The Other Side Of Us
by LUNAticX
Summary: It all starts off with a normal meeting at the World Summit. An attack on a nation turns things upside-down. Our nations are forced to overcome their fears and their weaknesses in order to save the world, while being continually chased by something in the shadows. The closer they get to the truth, the more questions arise on the identity of these nightmares. Just what are they?
1. I: Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.  
**

* * *

They came to the surface, one-by-one. By the next week, hundreds emerged, and then thousands.

Underneath our very feet lay a subterranean netherworld, unbeknownst to the nations, a civilization long forgotten even by the oldest of nations. Since they were their own people, the netherworld was unknown to the territories of other countries. But when they suddenly announced their existence that day, none could begin to accept the fact.

The _creatures_ that came onto the surface were by no means human.

An elongated neck, an arched spiny back, short bony legs, and arms with claws at the end that could cleave a body in two. And then there was the face. A pale, eyeless face with a round mouth full of sharp incisors, used for sucking the life out of those they latched on to.

The entire form spoke a nightmare.

They weren't seeking peace. They wanted to destroy, obliterate. Erase the very things from reality that reminded them of what they couldn't have, what they couldn't be.

Their targets: The people that weren't people. The so-called people-nations. The people who were countries but also held a name. These creatures couldn't understand the basis for a name, for an identity.

They were raised to be killers. They knew how to survive the worst possible scenario. There was no way that these people-nations could do the same.

These people-nations always tended to bicker amongst themselves, like that was what they could ever do, because they had nothing to worry about. They could not see what should be done in time before it's happened. They could not handle a nightmare that was unexplainable. They would just curl up and die.

It was impossible for them to survive the end of the world.

Now wouldn't you like to know how these nations would prove them wrong?

* * *

It was a bright morning in Italy. The sun shone, the birds sang, people milled about chatting with their neighbours. On this particular day, even the smallest hint of a bad omen was overlooked.

Italy Veneziano sat outside the cafe with his brother Romano. They decided to spend the day together since they've rarely been able to, with them both being split up for so long.

"What are we doing here?"

"You said you wanted coffee before we head over to the World Meeting, _fratello_," said Feliciano Vargas.

"I said I wanted to _grab_ coffee before we go. I didn't want to sit out here and have tea time with you."

Feliciano frowned. "Why do you always say such mean things?"

Lovino's visage visibly softened. "I . . . didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry. What really pisses me off is why _he's_ here."

At that moment Germany joined them at the table, followed by Japan.

"Wurst anyone?" The German set down a plate of steaming sausages.

"_Ve~_ Ludwig, I'm so glad you agreed to join us!"

"Well, of course. I couldn't leave you wondering the streets alone. You could get in trouble."

"Hey," said Lovino defensively. "I was with him the whole time."

Ludwig sized him up. "Exactly."

"I will strangle you, Potato Bastard."

"_Ve_, can you two _not_ fight for just one day?" Feliciano pleaded. He sat back and smiled. "I want to enjoy this moment with my friends."

"I agree," said Japan, or Kiku Honda. "Days of the World Summit should be peaceful. That's the point of such a gathering, _ne_?" He picked up a sausage and stared at it, before deciding to take a bite. "Mm . . . This is rather good."

Ludwig shrugged. "It's the cafe's."

"Dammit, why do we even have wurst?" Lovino demanded. He stood up. "I'm going to have a talk with the chef—"

Feliciano pulled him down by the sleeve. "_Fratello._"

Romano huffed. "Fine. But only for today."

Feliciano's face brightened, and he leaned across the table to give his brother a hug. Lovino stiffened, unsure of how to respond. It seemed he wasn't used to personal contact, even from his twin.

"W-what are you doing?"

Feliciano sat back down. "Huh? What do you mean? Doesn't Spain give you hugs, too?"

Lovino scratched his cheek. "He did. Once. And I kicked him in the balls."

"Ouch," Ludwig commented.

"Watch me, Potato-Freak. After this World Summit's over, I'll be doing the same thing to you."

"You can try."

"_Hai, hai,_ calm down," said Kiku. "Let's enjoy the rest of the morning, okay?"

"I have an idea," proclaimed Feliciano suddenly. "_Fratello,_ why don't you call Spain over? I'm sure it will be more fun with more people!"

Lovino stared off to the side. "He asked me to come over earlier. I told him I was spending the day with you, so he backed off and told me to have fun. Besides, the Tomato Bastard has his own things to do. I'm pretty much useless to him."

"_Ve_ . . . That's not true. Antonio's very fond of you."

"Yeah, well . . ."

"I hope you two have at least prepared your portfolios," said Ludwig, getting straight to the point. "I hate to have to fill in for your positions again."

"I was at the amusement park with the girls a couple streets down," said Feliciano.

"I was sleeping," said Lovino.

"So let me get this straight," said Germany. "You two . . . slacked off, _again_. What am I going to do with you? It's like this every meeting!"

"It cannot be helped," said Kiku. "Nations will be nations, _ne_? At least things won't progress more worse than it usually does."

"You have no idea. This time _all_ the nations are attending. It will be a hellhole in that conference room for the next few days."

Lovino stood up, his coffee abandoned. "It was nice chatting with you all, really, but I have to be going now."

"Ah! Where are you going, _fratello_?"

"To find Spain. I said I'd go to the meeting with him."

"It's a few hours drive from here to there."

"That's why I'm going to start now."

"Okay~ Be safe now, _fratello_~"

"_Ja_," said Ludwig. "Try to keep the speed down."

Lovino made faces at him. "How do you know how fast I go? Do you stalk me secretly or something?"

"Something as common sense as that doesn't require any stalking."

"_Sayonara_, Romano-san," said Kiku.

"Yeah, yeah." Lovino made his way across the road to his parked car. "_Ci vediamo più tardi_."

Romano never managed to reach the World Summit with Spain.

* * *

**I thought of this idea one day, thinking, "Hetalia is always so comedic and silly; what if the characters got to know the other side of themselves - the more serious, responsible side?" And so, the Apocalypse has come, and they'll show just what they've been hiding from us.**

******This is only the prologue, and the rest of the chapters are more like a series of shorts - not much detail, unlike a huge novel - so expect them to be just as short as this, or twice as long.**


	2. II: Spain

**The next short: Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its contents.**

* * *

Unfortunately, this country near the coast of the Mediterranean would be the first target.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo would be one out of many other attacks on nations. Thankfully for him, and perhaps for the hearts of those reading, his attack would not be fatal enough to kill him, since these bloodthirsty demons have not had the proper experience in taking down nations.

His day started off with the usual—going to the office to help work out international matters, then heading down to the supermarket to buy tomatoes, and then finally returning back home in time for dinner, in which today he would make salsa.

Antonio also tried calling Romano over, but the older Italian twin said that he was spending the day with his brother, Italy Veneziano. Antonio tried to hide his disappoint. After all, it wasn't unusual for Romano to tell him off like this.

In the kitchen, the Spaniard busied himself with preparing his world-famous salsa. It had to be made just right, boiled to the perfect temperature, and stirred with the exact amount of spices that made the sauce taste so divine.

He didn't see the ominous shadow that flitted across the window.

Antonio frowned and shook his head. The sun was being weird today. He didn't think it was that cloudy the last time he checked.

Another flicker of movement.

This time he did turn his head to stare out the window, but nothing was there.

"_¿Qué está pasando?_" he wondered aloud.

Antonio wiped his hands with a towel and sauntered over to the window. He unlocked it and pushed it outwards, peering down at the busy streets below. To the right, he recognized a pot of daisies, and to the left, he identified a line of laundry flapping in the wind.

Neither of these could have caused that shadow.

He closed the window. Maybe it was his imagination.

But with his back to the opposite window on the other side of the kitchen, he could not see the vaguely humanoid face that peered into the room, nonexistent eyes trained on him particularly.

"Probably those same kids that always play pranks on me," said Antonio, laughing to himself. "The young never learn."

The beast lingered at the other window. When Antonio turned around to go back to his cooking, he did not look up at all. Before he could notice it, however, the creature had already disappeared.

"Though, I doubt I can say the same," continued the Spaniard, stirring the melted cheeses in the pot. "Nations are old, but we never learn. We're always fighting."

Finally, when he reached up to the left-hand cupboard to grab some spice, his eyes flitted to the opposite window for a second, and he caught sight of the creature. But he couldn't tell what it was, because as soon as his brain registered what it _appeared_ to be, the figure moved out of way.

"What the . . . ?"

A small part of him was beginning to grow suspicious. He could feel a . . . foreign presence within his soul, something that didn't belong in his country.

He could hear the sounds of scraping and scurrying against the outside bricks of his home. His eyes travelled upwards to fit what his ears could hear, and in a matter of moments, a crashing sound came from his living room—the shattering of glass, and the leafing of a dozen books being thrown on the floor.

"Really," said Spain, growing irritated. "I know those children don't think highly of me, but breaking into my home and vandalizing my possessions has gone too far!"

Antonio tore off his apron and stormed into the living room, pausing only to take in the trail of destruction before him.

His beloved camellias were damaged beyond recognition—it was like they've been _chewed_ on. His bookshelf, full of old tomes and texts—definitely invaluable—had been toppled over on its side, half-shattered with all the books scattered around it.

But the only thing that really drew his attention was the greyish blob of appendages sitting in the middle of the room, gnawing on a chair leg it managed to snap off.

Antonio had no clue what it was.

The Spaniards eyes travelled downwards, toward himself, landing on a shattered picture frame at his feet.

He felt all the colour drain from his face, and he just stared. He had to take a few long seconds to process what he was seeing.

His green eyes flashed a dark olive, rage bubbling increasingly beneath his calm complexion. The other more sensible part of his conscience wondered if this was really him.

He hadn't been this angry for a long, _long_ time. He couldn't even remember the last time he yelled or acted on violence.

Always happy, always carefree and oblivious . . . This was him.

Not this person. Not the person that suddenly grabbed the pirate sword hanging on the wall beside him, and charged at the beast that dare break the photo of him and Lovino.

It wasn't just a photo either. There were so many memories associated with that picture and they were precious to him.

All he wanted now was to make that _monster_ pay for what it did.

Antonio unsheathed the sword and made the first slash at the beast. The blade bounced off of it harmlessly. The Spaniard took a step back warily, knowing that if his plan did not go how he planned it, then it was time for retreat and another strategy. Centuries of war taught him that much.

_Its skin is tougher than I thought._

But said monster hadn't even noticed him or the sword that was intended to harm him. It just continued to chew on the chair leg.

_What is it DOING? Did it just come here to eat my furniture?_

Maybe he could try to talk with it?

It didn't look human at all, but there was this universal language that all the countries used with each other. If they could understand it, why not this creature? It looked . . . intelligent enough.

"Hello?" Antonio tried.

_Bite. Gnaw. Growl._

Okay, maybe not.

He tried prodding the monster with the end of his sword. He hadn't used it in a long time, so it was rather dull, but the end was just as pointy as he remembered it three hundred years ago. But then again, the creature did not seem to feel any pain, or notice the fact that there was someone trying to get its attention.

Antonio figured he should call Arthur over, since obviously this creature looked to be of the magical kind. He never seen its sort before, nor had he ever considered he could see them. Arthur was probably busy with his own responsibilities, making sure America didn't do something stupid again, and Antonio certainly wasn't going to call that other fellow over—what's his name again? The one representing Norway. He had a bunch of troll friends, right?

But this monster in front of him was no troll. It appeared as if it hadn't seen the light of day in centuries. Its visage lacked eyes, so perhaps it lived underground for the most part?

If only he hadn't abandoned his Sight all those years ago. He would've been able to make a connection by now.

All in all, the creature that ransacked his living room was still a mystery. Antonio didn't think he could ever figure out what it was, even if he did have the Sight. It was definitely of the magical variety, he could tell.

There was something else bothering him. How had he acquired the Sight again, if this monster _was_ magical?

Unless it wasn't.

He scrutinized the creature further. "Can't be a new species, either . . ."

Suddenly, the fire alarm sounded in the background.

Spain swore. "I forgot to turn the stove off! My salsa . . ."

A rumbling growl interrupted his grievances. Antonio turned, and for once in the last two minutes, the monster had noticed him.

And it seemed _angry._

Its chair leg—scratch that; that chair leg was _his_—was carelessly abandoned on the floor, half chewed upon. Antonio figured the beast was still hungry and looking for another meal source.

"It's not me you want," the Spaniard said, backing away, his pirate sword held in a defensive position. "Easy boy . . . You are a boy, right? Let me just get back to my dinner, and we'll call it a day, all right?"

The monster took steps forward, mirroring Antonio's movements.

This _really_ wasn't good.

The fire alarm was still going; it started to irritate him. If he didn't hurry back to the kitchen and turn it off soon, he'd really lash out and hit something. Worse, the fire department would be called, and then they would see . . . _this_. The monster that wanted to eat his face.

In the worst case scenario, he'd be dead by then, and then forensics would be called in to clean up the mess. Spain really didn't want more paperwork for his people. The economy was crazy enough as it is, and the recent Euro crisis didn't help any.

The beast snarled, lashing spit everywhere. It seemed to Antonio that it was also bothered by the fire alarm. Not just _bothered_ though . . . More like aggravated by the mere sound of it. It looked almost wounded.

_Sound is its weakness?_ Maybe he wasn't going to turn the alarm off, after all.

Then the beeping progressed to a straight out _bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_, like when a heart monitor's regular beeping went flat. This made the monster even more aggressive—it started thrashing its head violently and crashing into the walls.

_Not sound,_ Antonio deduced, trying to dodge its rampage. _But the pitch? Maybe because it can't see, it's really sensitive to high pitches?_ _I always thought it'd have a better nose than ears, but who am I to judge . . ._

Then the beast swerved its head on him. Antonio swore that if this thing had eyes, it would've been staring straight into his soul. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

Without skipping a beat, the monster launched forward, claws extended. It came so fast, Antonio barely had enough time to dodge—instead, he chose to block with his sword. But hell, this monster was definitely stronger than it looked. Antonio's back slammed against the wall. Dust rained down on him from the ceiling above.

"Don't think I would forgive you," he said to the beast, rotating the knots out of his muscles. "You think you can just break into my home, destroy my possessions and then eat everything in sight? You deserve to be punished."

The beast growled, as if daring him to try.

Antonio rushed forward with his sword raised. The creature dodged to the side. As Antonio turned around to retaliate, this created a momentary opening on his part. With no time to properly dodge or block, the albino monster caught this opportunity and slashed him across the chest. Spain collapsed to the ground in a heap, clutching his torso and wheezing in short breaths.

_Damn. Punctured a lung. Two . . . three ribs, broken.  
_

That mocking bleep of the fire alarm seemed to illustrate his lifeline. If he didn't get up soon, he'd die, and he would never get to see Romano again . . . He could just imagine the Italian laughing at him for dying in such a pathetic way.

Centuries of toiling through famine, wars and depression, and he was still here. He wasn't going to die like this. He wouldn't be killed by merely _one_ person . . . thing.

This gave him a newfound drive, and Antonio pushed himself off the tattered carpet, gripping his pirate sword with both hands.

The beast lunged forward again, its leech-like mouth opened for the final blow.

"Let me show you why you should have _never_ made me angry," he murmured dangerously.

He didn't know whether it was out of skill, or pure luck—he was just glad his blade tip managed to find its mark.

Antonio plunged his sword straight through the jagged hole, the pristine blade emerging out the other side of the head. All time stopped, the monster's movements seemed to turn to stone, and Spain felt an overwhelming sense of calm and serenity.

If he had to die, it would be of his own accord. Nothing else had a saying in this matter.

The fire alarm finally died down as its batteries ran out, and at the same time, the monster crumbled to marble, breaking off piece by piece. Antonio's sword dropped like a rock, its only leverage gone, as he had no more strength to keep it raised.

_Finally,_ he thought. _It's over._

His hard mask broke off, the merciless visage crumbling. Spain wasn't used to being serious. It made him feel old and weary.

He collapsed onto his knees and bowed his head, thanking all the gods of the world that he survived through the ordeal.

And then, as he drifted off into a sleep to recover his vitality, a deafening sound descended on the room:

Utter silence.

* * *

**No romance for this fic. I can't write romance. Just basic family/friendship sort of thing.**


	3. III: Conference PT1

All the nations of the world were gathered in this small cramped room, not having a meeting like they should, but fighting amongst themselves instead.

As per usual.

Exactly two other nations were absent that day, and Italy Veneziano was getting antsy. The Italian wasn't singing about pasta or cowering behind Germany from the scarier countries—instead, he was worrying over where his older brother could be.

Romano hadn't come with him to the meeting like they always did.

Spain wasn't here either.

They would've come together if not with him, right? Was there any reason to worry at all? Lovino had said that he was going to pick up Antonio and bring him over.

But Feliciano had a feeling, and his feelings were usually right, which was why he put so much effort into avoiding conflict and surrendering. The feeling right then—what could it mean?

"Italy-san?" inquired Japan politely. "Is something bothering you?"

"Ve, Japan," Feliciano asked.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Have you heard from either Antonio or _fratello_?"

Japan blinked. "Why, no, I don't think so. Shouldn't you be able to feel something like that?"

Italy bit his lip. "I'm not sure . . . I should be able to tell what _fratello_ is thinking, but it's like he's shut himself off from me. It could mean he's going through some emotional stress."

"It's unusual for you to be so concerned. Perhaps something has happened with Romano-san."

Feliciano didn't answer. "Maybe I'll ask Germany," he said. "Thanks, Japan."

"Good idea. _Gomen_. I apologize for not being more of a help."

"No, I'm grateful for your input."

Feliciano moved off to find Germany. From all the ruckus of the individual nation disputes, Feliciano had to weave himself through all the chaos. He passed by the American Alfred F. Jones and the Brit Arthur Kirkland, arguing about proper etiquette and appropriate use of the Queen's English. America wasn't listening. England looked ready to murder someone. Or shoot himself in the head. Either way, none could hide from the Englishman's wrath.

He also passed Francis, harassing Matthew again. Not many noticed the Canadian, but Feliciano did. They had also become good friends over this fact.

China, or Yao Wang, was trying to disappear into his own little world. Ivan was beside him, scaring off the poor Baltics. Belarus was standing behind him as usual, scaring off everyone Russia couldn't scare, including himself. Also for some reason, the Nordics were having a snowball fight . . .

Italy decided not to ask.

Eventually Feliciano found Germany with his head in his hands, his older brother Gilbert laughing loudly next to him.

"Don't worry, West!" the Prussian was saying. "It'll calm down in no time!"

"For some reason, that doesn't reassure me, coming from you," answered Ludwig.

"Nah, you worry too much. We come in for a day of work, everyone fights, and then we all settle down eventually in time for lunch. You don't even need to spare the breath to yell at everyone."

"I wouldn't suppose you'd take over a bit for me?"

"Psh. For someone as awesome as me?" Gilbert shook his head. "No."

"Well, I tried."

"Lighten up, bro! Have a drink! You'll feel much better."

Ludwig found a pint of German beer shoved in his face. "Where did you . . . How the hell did you get alcohol past security check?"

Gilbert smiled in a way that made Ludwig question why he ever asked.

"Um, Germany?" Feliciano said hesitantly, taking a step forward to announce his presence.

"Ah, there you are," said Ludwig. "Where have you been, getting pasta again?"

Feliciano tensed. Was he honestly that predictable? Granted, that's what he _should_ have been doing, but given the current situation, Feliciano couldn't find the appetite to eat. It was one of those rare occurrences.

"No, I was . . ." he started. "It's just _fratello_ is not here for the meeting, and I'm worried."

Ludwig frowned. How odd, seeing Italy so concerned and unhappy. "I don't see why you have a reason to be. Lovino's probably out with Antonio, getting pulled over eighteen times because of how fast you Italians drive. They'll get here in a few minutes. You'll see."

"I know, but what if—"

"C'mon, Feli!" said Gilbert. "Antonio's with him, so they should be fine. I mean, we _are_ the Bad Touch Trio. What could possibly go wrong?"

"We've got more pressing matters to worry about," Ludwig continued. "This meeting is _actually_ important, so we have to try to re-grab everyone's attention. If we don't, we may never get our point across, and the world could fall into ruin as we know it."

"But—"

Germany stood. "LISTEN UP! EVERYONE SIT DOWN AND I WILL NOT HAVE TO SHOOT YOU!"

"That's my job," said someone, probably the trigger-happy Switzerland.

In the end, everyone complied—albeit with lots of cussing and threats—and Ludwig went ahead with his point. Thankfully everyone listened to his presentation, because they realized the real importance of the meeting and how it affected them all.

Feliciano was the only person not paying attention.

"Don't worry about it," said Gilbert, sensing his distraught thoughts. "I'm sure Lovino will turn up. He probably got sidetracked by a tomato deal at the market."

All Feliciano wanted was to believe that.

But he couldn't.

Gilbert took another swig from his beer. "I'm far too awesome to be worrying about these things. But you know, you ought to listen to West's point. The world comes first, right?"

To Feliciano, his twin brother _was_ his world. He wasn't Italy without Romano. If Romano disappeared, he would be only one half of the country, and that was just wrong. He figured Gilbert would understand, being the east part of modern day Germany.

A sudden jump in his heart caused his head to snap towards the door. In that small interval, Feliciano felt something from the mental link he shared with his brother. There was nothing physical he could gather from said feeling, because the torrents of thoughts that poured into him at that moment were purely emotional.

So much emotion. And pain. Anger. Sadness. Panic. _Despair._

Romano had been closing himself off all this time, but why now had he let his emotions pour out . . . ?

Unless he was somewhat breaking down inside?

Feliciano's eyes were locked on the door. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Germany's speech faded into the background and all Italy could hear was the loud pounding of his heart, and the fainter rhythm of another person's.

And just when he thought that, the doors flew open.

Lovino stood at the threshold, panting heavily, eyes darting about the room in a flurry. It was as if he was searching for a lifeline, trying to strike upon a face he knew, anything familiar to reassure him.

He locked eyes with his twin.

"P-please. Veneziano," he begged. "Help me."

Feliciano noticed the tears that were clinging to his cheeks, as if Lovino had cried long ago, but forgot to wipe them away.

"What's going on here?" England demanded. "Where have you been? Don't you know you were supposed to be present at this meeting three hours ago?"

Feliciano stood. "_Fratello_—"

"Please," said Lovino. "Help him. Antonio, that _bastardo_, he's . . ." His faced screwed up as if he just remembered a horrible memory, and the tears fell again. "I should have just accepted his invitation. It's my fault . . . I left him all alone."

"What happened, _fratello_?"

Lovino shook his head slowly. "I don't—I just got his place, and he was . . . His house was completely destroyed. His kitchen was practically on fire, the living room was torn into pieces. Antonio, he's—" He choked up. He couldn't bring himself to state the truth.

"_Fratello_?" Feliciano took a step forward. "Lovi, take a deep breath and tell me what happened."

The older twin fisted his eyes as he forced out the truth, his voice so hoarse it was painful to listen to:

"Antonio's been attacked."

* * *

**How rare, seeing Romano cry. I mean, other than crying in fear and cowardice. He and Spain ****_are_**** rather good friends, as much as he likes to deny that fact.**


	4. IV: Conference PT2

The silence that followed was so thick, one could hear _Canada_ whisper, loud and clear:

"Who would do that?"

"Dude," said Alfred. "That is _so_ not cool."

"I agree with America," said Arthur. "_Who_ would do that?"

"_Idiote_, don't you mean Canada?" Francis chided. "Do you honestly think America of all people is smart enough to ask such a vital question?"

"Are you insulting my intelligence, sir?"

"_Brilliante_ deduction, _m__onsieur!_"

Francis and Arthur managed to find each other's neck across the table and proceed to strangle the daylight out of each other.

"That's not the only question," said Matthew, trying to talk over their yelling, but his infuriating whisper couldn't penetrate their argument.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Alfred shouted. "MATTIE'S TRYING TO SPEAK!"

Both Francis and Arthur stopped fighting, stared, sat down, and wondered what in the hell just happened. Did _America_ break them up just now? The one who supposedly couldn't read the atmosphere? They cleared their throats awkwardly, motioning for the Canadian to continue.

Matthew sighed. "Thanks, Al. As I was saying, _who_ is an understatement when we don't know _why_, _what_, and _how_."

"_Fratello, _can you tell me what else you know, other than Antonio being attacked?" asked Feliciano.

He had moved his twin over into a chair where he was given a cup of tea and room to calm his nerves. Lovino had his eyes closed while his hands massaged his temples, going in circles over and over again. He didn't seem inclined to answer any questions at the moment.

"Where is Antonio right now?" Feliciano tried again. "Is he still at his house?"

"Don't speak to me like I'm retarded, bastard," said Lovino. "I'm _fine_."

Feliciano ignored his brother's tone of voice. To him, this was normal. "We need details, _fratello_."

"I don't know anything else other than that he's been attacked. I don't even know which asshole did this and how."

Some nations started whispering to each other, expressing their concerns. The rest doubted that one of them could be taken down so easily. Pretty soon, they had waved aside the matter altogether, choosing to bicker amongst each other like usual. Germany tried to call them to attention a few times, but they didn't listen.

"We need a plan," muttered Matthew.

"So soon?" Arthur said, skeptical.

"It's only a precaution," said the Canadian. "Trust me, Arthur. Do you know what chance there is that a _nation_ out of the rest of the population gets attacked? One to a billion. This is no mere coincidence. If Antonio has been attacked, then there are sure more to follow. It's better if we have a plan before we have the chance to find out."

The surrounding nations in the room turned and stared incredulously at the Canadian. It was rare to see someone so _invisible_ and silent, suddenly speak so much and make _sense_.

"_Who_ are you?" said a certain Cuban. "No, seriously. What have you done with Matthew?"

Matthew flushed and tried to disappear by hiding behind Alfred. Why now of all times did everyone notice him? "Sorry, I just thought you should hear my opinion. I didn't mean any offense . . ."

"No, no," said Arthur. "This is wonderful. To settle new threats, we need to sit down and think things through. There's never any use in panicking."

"Don't you all think we should be worrying about Antonio's welfare instead?" Feliciano reminded them, having been unsuccessful in coaxing answers out of his brother.

"Right. We should check on him."

"Is he hurt badly?" Feliciano asked his twin.

Lovino shook his head. "Doesn't look like it. A few scratches on his chest, but he's not bleeding out. I found him unconscious, and I suspect he's been like that for a while." He opened his eyes and looked downward, as if internally berating himself for his own failings. "It's my fault. If I'd been with him, this would have never happened."

"It isn't your fault, _fratello._"

"How do you know?!" Lovino snapped angrily.

Feliciano flinched. "Lovi, I didn't mean . . ."

"No. Of course you didn't. Sorry. I'm just frustrated right now."

"We should . . . We should get Antonio some medical help. Let's head on over to his place and try to investigate what happened."

"I'll come," said Matthew.

"Of course the Hero will be there," Alfred volunteered.

"Watch him for me," Arthur whispered to Matthew.

"The awesome me wishes to be present," said Gilbert, walking up to the group.

"That would be enough, then," announced Germany. "Too much people and it gets too crowded while the ideas get more ridiculous. Six strong heads shall be enough for now. This meeting is adjourned."

"Six?" said Feliciano, as the nations scattered. "You're coming with us, Ludwig?"

"Of course. I can't let you go to a crime scene alone. The day that happens is when the world ends."

Feliciano knew he meant well, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. For some reason, that phrase sent chills down his spine.

"Can we get going?" Lovino demanded impatiently. "I don't want to leave him there all alone."

"Sorry, _fratello_. We'll get there in time for the sun to set."

"That means we won't be staying at the hotel," said Matthew.

"No problem, bro!" said Alfred, patting his brother on the shoulder. "I'm sure none of the other nations would miss us. I bet tomorrow's session would be as boring as today!"

Ludwig face palmed. "I see you weren't listening?"

A sudden bang jerked them to attention. Lovino had stood up, his chair lying three feet away on its side. "If none of you want to be serious," he growled dangerously, "then don't bother helping me. I'll go by myself if I have to."

He was out the door before any of the nations could find their voice to apologize.

"Honestly, what's his problem?" Alfred said.

"Be more considerate, Alfred," said Matthew. "You don't know what he's going through right now."

"None of us do," replied Feliciano. "He's closed himself off from me again."

Gilbert patted the Italian on the shoulder, and then moved out the door after Lovino. The rest followed afterwards, trailing behind slightly so they wouldn't have to face the Southern Italy's wrath. Gilbert was either brave, stupid, or awesome like he said he was, because he was walking beside Lovino like nothing happened.

"I don't know how he does that," said Alfred.

"I've spent my whole life with him," said Ludwig. "I haven't got a clue at all."

"Really? This whole time?"

"I question it everyday of my life."

"The brief while you were able to feel his emotions, could you gather anything?" Matthew asked quietly.

Feliciano frowned. "I'm . . . not sure. His emotions outweighed his thoughts; I could only feel what he felt at the moment—nothing related to what he saw."

"You couldn't access his memories?"

Feliciano was glad for once that the Canadian was so quiet; he didn't want Lovino overhearing them talking behind his back.

"Why?" he said. "Is that possible?"

"Eh . . . if both of you are willing to share such thoughts," said Matthew. "For twins, feeling each other's emotions is a natural occurrence. But then comes the physical factor, which is purely instinctual. Memories and thoughts are something else altogether."

"It's only been recently that Lovi and I have become close. This whole time, our alliances had been separated. I was always with Germany and Japan—I had no time for him. And I think he'd been happy with Spain, too."

"I can't recall the first time Alfred and I connected our thoughts," Matthew said. "It's been a while . . ."

"You and America?"

"Yes. I know what you're thinking. Alfred and I have been close since we were born. We have close relations—trade, media, finances, and conflict. We know what's going on with each other the minute it happens; I suppose it has something to do with our undefended borders."

"Doesn't it get annoying?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Very much. I suppose it can't be helped. He's my brother, and I have to accept him for who he is."

"Because he loves me," butted in Alfred, slinging an arm around the two nations' shoulders. "Right, Mattie?"

"This is hardly the time to be so casual," Matthew muttered.

Alfred frowned.

"Of course I love you," Matthew said, and Alfred smiled. "We're brothers, after all."

Feliciano stared longingly at Lovino's back, feeling like a third wheel between the two North American brothers.

_Why won't he open himself up? What's he thinking?_

"Hey, people!" Gilbert called over his shoulder as they reached the lobby. "Guess what? We're in for it today—it's raining!"

"_Mein Gott_," said Ludwig. "All right, who's heading into the downpour to grab the van?"

"The black one?" questioned Feliciano. "What about our own cars?"

"Not today. Too flashy," said the German. Almost simultaneously, France popped into each of their heads. "We can't let anyone else know something's up."

"And a black government van will give us cover?" Gilbert said sarcastically. "Isn't that rather suspicious?"

"Counterproductive, certainly, but it's the only vehicle that can house all six of us. On second thought, perhaps America would like his own seat."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No. Not at all."

"Oh, cool. _Waaaiiit_. Was that sarcasm?"

"Let's just take the black van," said Lovino. "I'll drive."

"_Fratello_—"

"Any objections?"

The nations were quiet.

"Good."

Lovino, without hesitation, stepped out into the rain, immediately getting drenched as he dashed across the parking lot. In the distance, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled across the sky.

"Are you superstitious?" Feliciano asked Matthew, losing himself in the tumbles of grey clouds.

The Canadian tilted his head to the side. "I never considered that . . . Some of my people are, others aren't. Are you asking for my own personal verdict?"

"Yours."

"Ah. Eh . . . I suppose I'm not. Not really."

"I am. And this storm—I can tell something has gone wrong."

"Or will go wrong," Matthew added.

"I'm worried about him," Ludwig told his brother.

"Who?"

"Feliciano. He hasn't _ve'd_ all day."

"Is that bad?"

"It means he's tense. He hasn't been that way, even through the World Wars."

"Then whatever attacked Spain—"

"I fear it may be the real deal."

"Do we tell the others?"

"No, not yet."

Gilbert scowled. "But I think they should—"

"They'll find out eventually, and I'm not entirely sure yet."

"You all getting in or what?" Lovino yelled through the doors, his window drawn down.

The nations unfroze themselves from their positions and quickly scrambled into the van to avoid getting soaked. Once the last door slammed shut, Lovino wasted no time in speeding off into the waning daylight.

_Wait for me,_ bastardo. _Whoever—whatever—did that to you . . . I swear I'll make him pay._

* * *

**I feel Canada doesn't have enough love, so I've taken advantage of the situation to bring out his intellect. He's already so adept in strategy - it's his time to shine!****  
**

**On another note, it looks as if one character is getting more screen-time than the rest, but that's not necessary true. I'm mostly making this up as I go along, so sometimes one person would say more than the rest, just because it's something they _would_ say. All the characters are so different; it's weird giving Romano's dialogue to someone like Japan (for example).**

**This fic is already generally sci-fi/mystery/supernatural-centric, so you would need a lot of smart brains to bring out the genre(s). And _yes_, America CAN be helpful when he wants to be, despite what he makes everyone think most of the time. After all, he does have the world's largest supplies of ammunition and firearms! (I don't know if that's true, but why not?)  
**


	5. V: Investigation

**Talk, talk - be aware! Lots of dialogue. My disclaimer keeps popping on and off. Ah, well. Too lazy to write it every time. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.  
**

**Warning: Romano  
**

* * *

Lovino was an utter maniac when he drove angrily.

Gilbert swore he died a couple of times. He was the one who took shotgun, and after this, he was fairly certain he would _never_ call that spot again.

At least, not with Lovino at the helm.

Even Alfred—the self-proclaimed hero—had his eyes shut tight to stop himself from hurling onto the beautiful Italian leather seats. The speed and sudden lurches to the side didn't help any.

"Calm down," Matthew muttered.

"Shut up," Lovino said, taking a violent right. "Don't tell me what to do."

"_Fratello_, don't be mean," Feliciano said. "None of us deserve the anger."

"Does my face look like it cares?" Lovino said. "I don't give a single fuck. I could've even gone by myself."

"Hey, that's going too far," said Alfred.

"Then who am I suppose to get angry at?" Lovino snapped. "The person who did this to Antonio? I don't even know what he looks like! I know I shouldn't be angry at you, but I can't help it! Not until I find out the bastard who dared do this . . ."

Lovino swerved to the side to avoid a car that was going to slow. In his standards. The movement threw everyone to the left. Ludwig fell into Feliciano, who fell into Matthew, who was unfortunately squished against the window.

Alfred seemed like the only person that got out of the experience alive.

Lovino shoved Gilbert off of him and gunned it, the gears in the engine grinding disagreeably.

"You're going to kill the car, man!" Alfred shouted.

"We're almost there anyway," Lovino said, noticeably calmer than before. It seemed the fact that Antonio was at arm's length calmed his anxiety somewhat.

About two hours after departing from the meeting hall, they arrived at Spain's house.

The nations stumbled out of the car, the majority of which found a wall to support themselves while they recovered from their motion sickness. The rest collapsed out of nausea and retched on the grass.

"Never . . . going through that again," Alfred spoke, caressing the sweet, beautiful ground. "This is the last time you drive, Lovi."

Lovino shrugged. "Doesn't look like I will. I forgot to put the sirens on, so it looks like I'll be getting a million speeding tickets."

They all headed inside before the police could manage to track them down. Lovino practically ran up the stairs, while the rest were still disorientated after the insane car ride. Feliciano lagged behind, the feeling inside him growing worse.

Whatever happened here left behind an imprint. He didn't know what, but it felt . . . foreign. He had to ask Antonio personally, because this was his country, and he could feel a lot more than what others outside his boundaries could gather.

Lovino was already in the living room, where he had moved Antonio off the ground. Miraculously, the armchair the Spaniard loved so much was still intact. Everything else was shredded beyond repair.

"Whoa," Alfred said as he sized up the room.

Matthew stepped up beside him. "Whoa is right. What happened here?"

"Looks wasted," Prussia pointed out. "Can we really find evidence in this mess?"

Ludwig swiped a finger across the shelf and rubbed the dust collected. "Look around. The evidence is everywhere."

Feliciano ran first for Antonio, lying limply in his armchair. He checked his pulse.

"How is he?" Matthew asked tenderly.

"Alive. His heart rate is slower than usual."

"That's common for us. It shows he's healing."

Feliciano's hands moved downward towards the three claw scratches on Spain's chest. The fabric of his shirt was stained red with blood. Already his injury had crusted over. Slowly but surely, his body was starting to stitch itself up.

"He'll be fine," the Italian stated, unable to suppress a sigh of relief.

Lovino had moved over to the entrance connecting the kitchen to the living room. He was holding a broken picture frame in his hand, tracing the outlines of the photo with his finger.

"I'll take him to my place so he can rest up," said Matthew. "Free healthcare and all, eh?"

"Thank you," said Feliciano.

"He does look as if he's been cleaved across the chest," Ludwig inspected. "America, do you know of a weapon that can do this?"

"Nope," said Alfred. "I would know if there was. I have a huge bunker with loads of arsenal at my disposable. I could—"

"Thanks for sharing."

"'Kay!"

"There's no way a regular person could have done this," said Gilbert. "Matt's already said that nations are being targeted specifically, right? Have any of us leaked who we are to the outside world?"

"No. Never," Ludwig said.

"Then obviously it's gotta be an animal?"

"Animal?" Feliciano said, rejoining the investigation. "Is there really a kind of animal that's this intelligent?"

"Could be a coincidence," Matthew pitched in.

"Doubt it," said Ludwig.

"What about we just ask Antonio what happened once we wake up?" Gilbert suggested.

"Cool, he's got a pirate sword!" Alfred exclaimed, tinkering with the sharp instrument. "I remember Arthur had one like this; he used to let me play with it when I was little . . ."

"And you nearly cut your arm off," Matthew said, "and mine. Put that down, Al."

"We can't just rely on Antonio's judgement," Ludwig stated. "He probably entered the living room after he heard all the ruckus of his things being broken. I checked his kitchen already. He was cooking—and judging from the burnt state of the salsa, he had already been cooking it for a while before he was forced to abandon it. In addition to that, the fire alarm is inoperative; I'd say he must have taken some time to deal with the threat while the fire alarm went off. The smoke from the salsa is still floating around, too."

"You've taken all that from a simple gander around his place?" Gilbert questioned.

"You'd be surprised how much evidence there is in this one room, _bruder_."

"So what happened after he came into the room?" Lovino spoke softly, the picture frame still in his hand. For the time being, though, it seemed he came over to help out the investigation.

"Man!" Alfred said, holding up a misshapen chair leg. "Look at this thing. What do you think about this, guys?"

"Looks half-eaten to me," Gilbert said, grimacing.

"Definitely an animal, then," said Matthew. "So let's see, when Antonio came into the room . . . he saw his attacker eating the chair leg. Afterwards, he probably grabbed the pirate sword off the hanger over there"—he pointed at the wall spot near the entrance—"and used it as defense."

"The attacker got the better of him," Lovino surmised. "And then . . . he managed to beat it? How could he manage that if he was hurt?"

"Nations are strong, duh," said Alfred.

"Not all of us are superpowers like you, _bastardo alieno_."

"Could just be a rabid animal," Gilbert said.

"Superpower or not, Antonio _is_ a nation," said Ludwig. "He's stronger than that, and more agile. A rabid animal couldn't possibly harm him this severely."

"So whatever did this knew what it was doing."

"Alien!" Alfred suddenly shouted.

"What are you going on about, Al?"

"Dudes! I got it!"

"Just tell us already."

Alfred held his hands out, prolonging the silence to make things more dramatic. "Get this, guys. I've just realized—what if whatever did this was an alien?"

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever h—"

"No, no," said Feliciano, having been silent this whole time. "Keep going, Alfred. I think you're on to something here."

"You're really listening to _him_? This stupid _Americano_?"

"I'm just having a feeling. You're closer to Antonio than I am, right? Then you must have felt the weird residue lingering in this room—the foreign presence. It's all around the walls, the broken furniture, even that broken picture frame. It doesn't belong here, does it?"

Lovino narrowed his eyes. "What are you—?"

"Just give Alfred a chance."

The older Italian twin looked like he wanted to say more, but then huffed in annoyance. "Che. Fine. Whatever."

"I think it's an alien," Alfred repeated. "Obviously it isn't the normal animal or whatever that's common in this region. I mean, what else could it be if it wasn't human or beast?"

"A government project?" Gilbert said. He was just throwing ideas out there now; they could be wrong, but then they wouldn't get anywhere that way.

"If it _was_ a government project, then attacking such a high official in the government would be punishable by death," Matthew said.

"Death would be nice," said Lovino.

"But we don't know who or what did this yet."

"Shame."

"We're heading in the right direction," Feliciano said. "I can feel it. It's not the alien Alfred thinks it is—but it's definitely not a creature we've encountered before. I think it's a new species that we haven't got in our knowledge base."

"Is that possible?" Ludwig wondered.

"In any case, we should ask the other nations—see if such specie is common in their countries," said Matthew. "Then we'll go from there. Also, when Antonio wakes up, we should ask him his story. Otherwise, this is all we can gather from the physical evidence at this scene."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Alfred, looking around. "It's like a pack of bulls rampaged through this place."

He kicked at a pile of white rubble on the floor. Then there was this weird _slosh_, and he lifted his foot. Underneath his Converse sneakers, a gooey substance glued his foot to the ground.

"Ew," he said. "Is this . . . drool?"

"Not awesome, man," said Gilbert.

"There's no sign of any creature," sighed Ludwig. "Maybe it escaped? We've only got this saliva to go by, and even it isn't enough to identify the attacker. I don't see this investigation going any further."

"But Antonio's still alive," Matthew whispered.

"Yeah, so?" Lovino said.

"Don't you see? If the attacker was capable of showing mercy, it would leave him alive. But why run away, then? Why attack at all if he was going to leave his victim alive? Antonio was already hurt; why not finish him off? It'd be easier that way. I'm just saying that it's either kill or get killed."

"You mean Antonio _defeated_ whatever attacked him?"

"Yes. That's exactly it. But the question now is . . . where are the remains? And why is there no blood on the floor?"

"Maybe the thing doesn't have blood?" Alfred said.

There was a barely noticeable pause after Alfred's suggestion, but it was still there. In this small interval of time, the same thought ran through each of their heads. It was a crazy question, but for some reason it felt true.

"_Ve_, this is getting weirder by the second," said Italy. "Why do I get the feeling that the more we think about it, the less it makes sense?"

"It's not only you that thinks that, Feliciano," said Ludwig. "How about we get Antonio some medical attention and then come back another day with more input from the others?"

"I'd prefer to leave the others out of this," Alfred said.

Matthew shook his head. "There's no time to be the hero, Al. Whatever it is, it's after nations."

"Matt's right. We ought to tell them," said Gilbert.

"And if they know, we can avoid more attacks like this," Lovino said. "Doesn't matter who's targeted. No one deserves death. I don't want this happening it again."

"None of us do, _fratello._"

"It's decided, then," said Ludwig. He moved over to Antonio and picked him up gently. "We'll settle this another day. Frankly, it's getting late, and we all need the rest."

The nations locked the doors as they left, vowing to solve this mystery to the very end. Lovino kept glancing over his shoulder, feeling as though he had left many things unsettled. His twin was feeling the same way, wanting to simply turn back around and head into the house.

Even after figuring out so much, they weren't any closer to the truth than when they first started out. Questions were answered, but many more took their place. Such an event could forever stay a mystery unless the answer stared them in the face, and by then, it would have been too late.

* * *

**This one is a bit longer than the other chapters I think. I find that as I progress along a story, their chapters get longer and longer. This fic is rather manageable because a couple hundred letters aren't a problem. My other story has 5k+ words, and recently, it's been 8k-11k+. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading, of course. Hopefully I wouldn't get too attached to this story and abandon my other one . . . One can only hope.**


	6. VI: Hacked Security

Thankfully, the van hadn't been towed. Feliciano didn't know what he'd do if they couldn't get back to the hotel. He felt uneasy in Antonio's country; the presence of the foreign mass still lingered in his home.

He figured that if any one of them stayed, they would've been the next targets for the mysterious attacker.

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon long ago, showering the Spanish city sky in a dark blue blanket speckled with stars. Upon entering the van, Matthew Williams noticed someone—or something—that had no business being in there.

"Who?"

"What the hell?" said Alfred, peering in. "Dude, is that your polar bear? How'd he get in there?"

"Eh, your guess is as good as mine," mumbled the Canadian. Matthew bent down and ruffled Kumajirou's fur. "Hey, Kuma . . . How'd you get in the car?"

"Always been."

"Ah, I see. Sorry, I totally forgot about you."

"Rode in your hood."

"I . . . hadn't noticed. Sorry. Again."

Ludwig opened the van doors and carefully laid Antonio down across the very back seats. "Aside from the ninja-resque polar bear," he said, "I'm just glad the police haven't caught up. That would cause a lot of problems." He shot a certain Italian a _very_ meaningful look, which said Italian couldn't quite catch since his back was facing them.

Lovino joined them after he locked shut the entrance to Antonio's apartment. "Everything's clear. No one will be getting in an out until the matter's resolved."

"That could also be another problem."

It was fortunate that Antonio owned the entire apartment complex. If he had a neighbour, they would have surely heard the noise of a fight going on and gone by to check on him. Then there were the brats down the street who loved to play pranks on the Spaniard. They would have come by anytime and figured out what was going on.

Better no one get inside and see for themselves.

"I'm going to call up his government and tell them to not send any officials to check on him," Lovino said. "Otherwise they'd see . . . well, _that_."

Ludwig nodded. "Good idea. We need to make sure that nothing ever happened here, so that no one would get curious and trespass to try to figure out what's going on. We need to try to patch up that broken window too . . ."

"We could blame that on the kids," Alfred suggested—which wasn't a very bad idea at all, coming from him.

"Is this a strictly six country thing, then?" Gilbert said. "I thought we agreed on telling the others."

"We will. Eventually. No need to rush things."

"Doesn't matter," said Matthew, allowing Kumajirou to climb aboard his shoulder. "They'll figure it out. With the close relations we have with everyone else, they'd realize what's happening in no time. Bet you a gallon of maple syrup Arthur would be the first to figure it out."

"Well, he did own, like, the whole world at one point," said Gilbert. He shook Matthew's hand. "You're on. Just be warned that you cannot surpass my level of awesomeness. Maple syrup would just make me look more celebrated."

Matthew smiled. "Right."

"Climb aboard then," said Ludwig, taking the driver's seat.

The countries scattered on different sides of the van and climbed on, each door slamming into place consecutively. Everyone agreed that Ludwig had a certain level of control that Lovino . . . _lacked._ They felt safer with him driving.

Lovino didn't object. He sat at the back, watching over Antonio.

Ludwig turned the key in the ignition, the engine whirring to life. He tested the acceleration a few times, and then switched gears, stepping on the gas. The black government van lurched forward and sped away onto the freeway.

"Nothing like a German-made car," he said.

"So no matter how much I torture this thing," said Lovino, "it won't break?"

"Don't get any ideas. Even gods have their limits."

"_Sfortunato_," the Italian muttered.

"I'm glad you're in such high spirits, _fratello_."

"Don't misunderstand. I'm still pissed—just less inclined to punch the nearest person's face in."

Alfred, who sat in front of Lovino, shifted slightly forwards in his seat.

"We need a plan," Matthew said.

"Again with the plans?" Gilbert said.

"It worked out, didn't it? We found out what's going on—more or less."

"Fine, then. What do you have?"

"We need to have another meeting, with only just us. No other nations. We need to gather our information together and think things through step-by-step."

"We need to think?" Alfred said.

"Don't worry," said Ludwig. "Everyone else will do the thinking; you just grab as many guns as you can."

"Hey, I ain't stupid."

"Certainly illiterately challenged," Lovino joined in.

". . . Sorry, what?"

"Case closed."

Gilbert burst out into laughter.

"Seriously, _what_?" Alfred demanded. "Dude, what did you say about me?"

Matthew stroked Kumajirou's fur. "Nothing you need to worry about, brother dear."

Alfred frowned, and started muttering himself, intent on figuring out what they were talking about.

"All right, all right, I think that's gone far enough," said Feliciano, as the rest of the nations chuckled amongst themselves. "Matthew's right about the private meeting plan. Alfred may not rely too much on thinking, but we still need him."

Ludwig huffed. "Okay, so all of us—minus Alfred and the obviously unconscious Antonio—will do some planning separately from the World Meeting. But where?"

"Come to our room," said Lovino. "I've got thousands of Intel at my disposal. This is one of those times when the Mafia comes in handy."

"I'll be absent, then," said Matthew. "Antonio needs help."

"You can treat him in our suite. Besides, you're only a few doors down, right? Everyone else is on different floors. I know Potato Bastards 1 and 2 are on the 19th floor of the hotel."

"You forgot me, dude!" Alfred said, raising his hand. "I'm across the hall!"

"_Sfortunato_."

"What does that _mean_?"

"Unfortunately," Feliciano said.

"Unfortunately—what?"

"No, it means . . ." Feliciano sighed. "You know what? Never mind."

Alfred made a face like, _What the hell is going on?, _followed by some bizarre hand gestures.

"You all get some rest," Ludwig suggested. "It's a long ride back. We need well-rested minds to think. That means you too, America, despite you being a superpower."

"Hey, I've got a great economy."

"Have you taken a look at your charts recently?"

" . . . The what?"

"I'll take that as a no. Take a short nap. Might as well, seeing as it's already past 9."

Ludwig sighed as the rustle of the other nations settling back could be heard. He gripped the steering-wheel and leaned forward. Time to get comfortable. It was a _long_ drive back._  
_

* * *

A sudden, violent halt jerked the nations awake.

Gilbert flew forward and smashed his face on the dashboard.

Okay, he was definitely _not_ ever sitting in shotgun again—_ever_. Even if Lovino _wasn't_ the one driving.

"What the hell!" Alfred cursed, rubbing his forehead. "Ludwig, dude, what's going on?"

Ludwig was staring straight ahead at something interesting going on in the distance. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight, the whites of his knuckles were showing.

"The hotel . . ." he stammered. "It's—"

"_Cazzo_." Lovino leaned past Alfred's head and squinted out the windshield. "Are those . . . police? Did they finally catch up? I didn't think I was going _that_ fast . . ."

"No, wait," said Feliciano. "I think the hotel's on lockdown."

"What?" Alfred said. "But—that can't be! What's going on? Was another country attacked?"

"I don't think so. There aren't any ambulances."

"Jesus," Alfred said, leaning his head back with relief. "You scared me."

"But that doesn't mean something's not wrong," Matthew murmured.

Ludwig unlocked himself from his stupor and drove the van into the hotel parking lot. The nations scrambled out, approaching the police cars guarding the hotel entrance. Ludwig was behind the group, helping Lovino with supporting Antonio's limp body. Lovino resisted and shoved the bastard away, insisting he could manage it himself. A squabble between Germany, North Italy and South Italy ensued in the background.

"What's going on here?" Gilbert demanded.

The officer pushed him back. "Sorry, sir, I'm afraid you're not authorized to enter. Please leave."

"Not authorized?" the German said. He slapped the man's hands off of him. "Gilbert Beilschmidt. I'm more awesome than you, therefore—_move_."

"You're . . ."

Germany broke off from the argument with Romano and approached the officer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. Germany's representative diplomat. This is my older brother."

"S-sirs," the officer spluttered, not expecting nations to show up outside the hotel. "I wasn't notified on your identities beforehand, forgive me. I was told to question anyone that walked through these doors. I was aware that some nations were out—we were waiting for you all to come back."

"Then let us through," said Alfred.

"That's too easy, sir. I was also notified about an attack. I don't want any potential intruders bent on doing harm to anyone. We need to make sure none of you are imposters. Please, tell me your identities."

"Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America."

"Matthew Williams, Canada."

"Feliciano Vargas, North Italy."

". . . Lovino Vargas, South Italy."

"Thank you. Who's the extra?"

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, of Spain. He's been injured."

"Is that so? Should I call paramedics?"

"No need. He's being taken care of."

"Are you sure?"

Lovino shot the officer his meanest glare. "That's all."

"Apologies, sir."

The officer waved them through checkpoint with a load of apologies.

The thing about normal human names versus a nation's name was that when spoken, there was absolutely no way that a person could lie about it. Take Doctor Who, for example. He goes by 'the Doctor' simply because if his name was spoken, it would unleash a terrible power that could potentially destroy the earth as we know it—if not the universe.

This was the same for the nations. There lay a certain _power_ behind their names; it wasn't something one could lie about. If whoever spoke it was not the nation themselves, no meaning would radiate from the claim.

There was authority in their words. The officer couldn't help but shake under the inability to resist it.

"It cannot be helped," he said. "I was ordered to question all who crossed the hotel's boundaries."

"Who issued it?" Ludwig said.

"Arthur Kirkland, the representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

Gilbert and Matthew looked at each other. A silent battle of who's the winner initiated between them.

"He informed me that there's been an attack on a country. This building is under lockdown to avoid another attack."

"Arthur is such a paranoid noob," Alfred said. "We're fine. Antonio's fine. There's no danger. Go home and take the day off."

"Sorry." The officer shook his head. "We can't do that. You can never be too certain. We were called in for a mission, and we intend to keep it that way."

Ludwig ran a hand through his slick hair. "I wish none of you took your jobs so seriously . . . Honestly, we don't need the protection."

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that, sir."

"In any case, thank you for your help. You can get back to your post."

The officer saluted and returned outside.

Alfred whistled. "Private government officers, huh? This seems serious."

"Not your forte?" Matthew said.

"Nope."

"Let's hurry upstairs before anyone sees us," said Lovino. "Carrying an unconscious Antonio would be suspicious, wouldn't it?"

"Agreed," said Gilbert.

Spoke too soon, however. As if on cue, the doors to the elevator opened, and Arthur Kirkland stepped out, searching the lobby for his newest set of victims.

Ludwig quickly shoved Antonio behind a curtain. The other nations got the message and appeared to act nonchalant.

Arthur approached them with a wary look.

"Where have you all been?" he said slowly. "Didn't just decide to have a picnic in the lobby, did you? None of you came back with us to the hotel . . . We thought something was up."

"Nothing's up," Alfred said. "It's mostly down."

"I'm not stupid. I heard about Antonio's attack. Did you all go to see if there's something to be done about it?"

"Nothing," said Gilbert. "Nothing at all. He's fine. Just a minor scratch."

"_Reeeaaally_. So this country attack thing was all just a farce?"

"No, no. It's pretty real."

"I . . . don't understand."

"There's nothing _for_ you to understand, Arthur," Matthew piped up. "We found Antonio, and he's fine."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the Canadian. "Then . . . _where is he_?"

"We left him at his place."

"Right, but if you haven't realized yet, he's supposed to be at this World Meeting in the first place. Why didn't you bring him back with you?"

"Why do you care?" Alfred interjected.

"I . . . I don't," the Briton answered, attempting to cover up his obvious intentions. "It's just—you've all seen the officers outside. This is not joking matter. Here or not, Antonio _has_ been attacked, and if what you're saying is true, then any one of us could be next. I'm not taking that chance."

"Dude, can you not show initiative for once?" Alfred said. "It's annoying."

"I'd advise you to call off the security," said Ludwig. "All this activity will start to attract attention, and soon we'd have media and regular citizens blocking every way to this hotel. We don't want them finding out who comes to this hotel every year, do we?"

Arthur appeared to be caught between two opposing decisions. "Well, when you put it that way . . . No. I need you all to tell me what's going on before I do that. I can tell you're hiding something from me."

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Lovino muttered, glancing briefly to the curtain Antonio was hidden behind.

"Try me."

"Dude, Arthur," said Alfred tiredly, "if we told you, it'd be super, duper stupid, and you'd just yell at us anyway. It's really none of your business."

"Not my business? Alfred, we are all to be affected if you don't tell me what's going on!"

"Why don't you try finding out on your own, eh?" Matthew suggested softly, before another fight could escalate. "You are a spy, are you not, Arthur? Surely you wouldn't even need our input."

"We're just going to lie to you anyway," Lovino added helpfully.

Arthur clenched and unclenched his fists. And then he huffed angrily, stomping away. When he was out of their sights, the nations glanced at each other and visibly deflated in relief.

"Ve~ Glad that's over," Feliciano said. "I've never been comfortable with lying."

"And yet for some reason," Ludwig said, "you do it so well."

"That's one less person off our back," said Alfred. "Maybe. At least he won't be coming to us for answers."

"It worked, though," said Matthew.

"Wait—I thought you were just trying to reverse our bet," said Gilbert. "You weren't trying to win?"

"No, not at all," said Matthew. "In fact, I forgot all about our bet."

"The hell."

Ludwig gathered Antonio from behind the curtains and apologized for shoving him so roughly into the wall. He slung the Spaniard's arm over his neck and proceeded to half-drag, half-lift him across the foyer.

He turned.

"You all coming or what?" he asked the still nations.

They unhinged themselves and shuffled forward.

"I can't imagine behind so rude to Arthur," Matthew said.

Alfred laughed. "Ahahahahahahahaha~! I can!"

"We should apologize to him later . . ."

"Hey, don't bother! The plan worked, so it's all good!"

"But it doesn't feel right," Matthew objected.

Lovino jabbed his thumb at the elevator button. When the lift arrived and the doors opened, the six nations plus one all crammed inside and hit the 15th floor.

"That was a close call," Feliciano said. "That was nearly three times we were found out." He ticked off each event with his finger. "There was the officer, who's aware of the situation. There was Arthur, who nearly saw Antonio's state, and then there was Arthur _again_, who knew way too much and asked too much."

"You owe me the syrup," Matthew said.

"Hey, hey," tutted Gilbert. "Not yet. You haven't won yet."

Lovino inhaled and exhaled, leaning wearily against the elevator wall. He started massaging his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. After what transpired these last few hours, they were stinging painfully. All he wanted now was to lie down and sleep.

"Why do we even need to do this much work?" he half demanded, half complained. His voice carried out clearly through the cramped space. The rest of the nations were silent. "How are we supposed to manage secrecy when just about everyone knows about Antonio? They're not going to think I was a liar—I mean, I was . . ."

"Crying, dude," Alfred helped. "You were crying."

"_Great_," Lovino forced through clenched teeth. "Thanks. Tell the world, would you?" (Quite literally.)

"Well, I wasn't going to, but if you want . . ."

"_Shut—up_, stupid American."

"_Fratello,_ it'll be okay. You'll see."

"No, it's not okay. We're keeping everything from them. Who knows? We could die tomorrow, in thirty minutes . . . I mean, is this the right thing to do? How can we be certain that our decision won't end up killing the world? People would believe what they want to believe. Doesn't matter how ridiculous it is."

"Some things don't change," Ludwig said. "No matter how dire the situation is. Some nations just won't believe us. They still don't, even after Lovino's . . . display."

"Mention any word of what happened again," Lovino threatened, "and I'll find a _very_ interesting way to kill you with a matchstick, mark my words."

"All I said was display."

Lovino produced a matchstick from his pocket.

"Right. Sorry."

"This elevator is slow," Feliciano remarked. It was getting a little bit awkward.

The elevator finally dinged and the nations filed out. They headed left to door 1505, which was the Italian twins' room. Feliciano produced the key and they all entered. Ludwig helped Antonio into a bed, and Matthew stepped up with a First Aid Kit, prepared to treat his patient.

The rest cluttered around a laptop in the other room. Ludwig shut the bedroom door behind him and joined the others. Lovino was sitting behind the screen, typing in a personal IP address so his research couldn't be traced.

"What are we looking for exactly?" Gilbert wanted to know.

"I'm going to wire this computer to the stronghold in our capital," Lovino informed him. "That way, I can access billions of networks with a touch of a button. I may even be able to call on a few of my men to help search."

"But _what_ are you going to do?"

Lovino sucked in a sharp breath and released it. "Well, first of all, I'm going to hack into every government database in the world to see what the hell attacked Antonio." He locked eyes with each nation. "Any objections?"

They shook their heads.

"_Eccellente_."

* * *

**This is to another chapter. Thanks for the favourites, the follows and the reviews. **

**By the way, just out of curiosity, what's your favourite chapter so far? Or favourite moment? This is like a feedback sort of thing, and I just generally like to know what you guys think about this story.**

**Also, have any of you noticed how Romano always gets the last word? I hadn't noticed that, and I WROTE this thing.  
**


	7. VII: Suspicion

After the elevator doors closed behind the nations, Arthur emerged from his hiding place behind a pillar.

Unfortunately, he couldn't turn and spy on them without getting spot himself, so he had to resort to using his ears.

What he did pick up was overall unhelpful, but one thing he was certain of: They were lying to him, and it was more than a simple attack.

He knew that it was pointless to try to coax answers out of them; they were fully intent on keeping their secrets secret, therefore he would have to figure things out by himself.

That was the tricky bit, though. He didn't have much to go by. Drawing conclusions was going to prove difficult with only one mind.

He didn't want to admit it, but he needed help.

"_Angleterre~_ What are you doing, peeping in on unsuspecting youngsters?"

Speak of the devil.

Arthur faced his millenia-old rival. "Fuck off, Frog. This is none of your business."

Francis smiled. "Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance?"

"You are nothing of the sort to me. If you must know, I'm not _peeping_, merely observing and gathering intelligence."

"Ah, _oui_? For what?"

"Like I said: None of your business."

Arthur began walking towards the elevators. Much to his chagrin, Francis followed.

"It's too late in the night to be up and walking around," said the Frenchman. "Tell me. What were you doing down here?"

Arthur reached forward to press the elevator button. "You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"Germany, Prussia, America, Canada and the Italy brothers have returned."

Francis' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "They have? All this time I'd thought they'd gone off someplace to—"

"That's what I thought. But apparently not."

"You do not appear to be certain."

Arthur frowned. "No . . . You're right. I'm not. They're hiding something from me. From all of us."

"Why do I have this dreadful feeling that you're going to get involved?"

"I want to find out what's going on with them. I _need_ to know what's going on."

Francis sighed wearily. "And why are you telling _me_ this?"

"Because . . ." Arthur turned his head away, mumbling, "I need help."

Francis' eyebrows rose even higher. If Arthur hadn't appeared so genuinely sincere, he would have laughed in his face. "You're serious. No, you can't be. You, the arrogant Englishman, are asking _moi_ for help?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Frog," Arthur scoffed. "You're flattering yourself. I'm simply saying I need help, not _your_ help."

"I don't see the difference."

"Since you're here already, why not? After all, you're rather close to the Italians and Matthew. Something to do with vital regions, I'd wager. You'd be of some use . . . unlike the countless wars you've taken a hand in."

Francis gasped. "Says who?"

"Your military record."

"_Vous mentez!_"

Arthur inspected his fingernails. "I assure you, I'm one hundred percent serious."

Francis was rather inclined to choke the Englishman to death, but then the elevator dinged and Arthur stepped aboard. After a while when the doors hadn't shut, the Frenchman frowned.

"Well?" Arthur leaned out the doors. "You coming in or what?"

Francis quirked an eyebrow and entered. Arthur selected floor 8, and they were on their way upward.

"This is wrong," Francis said.

"What's wrong?"

"You and I, working together."

"We aren't working together. We merely have the same goal. After all, you do want to know what's going on, don't you?"

Francis couldn't deny that. "But perhaps we are to be ignorant for a reason," he offered. "What if we aren't meant to know?"

"We are nations," Arthur said. "It's our job to know."

"And the fact that you don't know irritates you, doesn't it?"

"You know how unsettling I find it when you know me better than I know myself?" the Englishman said, tapping his fingers against a hand railing. "It's bothersome."

Francis grinned slyly. "And what are you going to do about that?"

"Make a move and you'll be saying goodbye to your masculinity," Arthur said. "Or what's left of it. I may have settled into a more gentlemanly fashion, but I will not hesitate to go pirate all over your pathetic arse if I have to."

Francis pressed himself against the opposite wall, moving as far away from the ex-pirate as possible.

"Good choice."

The elevator finally stopped moving and the doors slid apart. Francis kindly let Arthur out first, who strode past with a holier-than-thou air that only the personification of England could manage.

Francis was just glad he wasn't on the receiving end of one of the Briton's pirate swords. Lord only knows the day would come eventually . . .

"I assume you have a plan?" Francis said.

"Of course I have a plan," said Arthur, as they made their way down the hall. "It doesn't require anything to do with you, other than to throw around a few ideas here and there."

"I'm sure I can handle a simple mission."

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, Frog. My plan is foolproof."

"Does it have anything do with the M word?"

Arthur smiled a slow, very pirate-like smirk. "It's been a long time since I've been able to release my power. It'll just be like the old days, hm?"

"I'm having doubts about it now," the Frenchman responded warily.

They arrived at door 810. Arthur inserted a key card and pushed through inside.

"No worries," he said. "It's not a huge spell. I assume you would know, since you do have a magic school over there."

"One of the best," Francis boasted.

"If you've forgotten, it's my school that saved the world. Like, seven times."

"And whose fault was it that the world needed saving?"

Arthur glanced to the side. "Well, it's really more of Scotland's school."

"Just be glad he's not here to hear you say that."

After Arthur made sure the hotel door was securely locked, he led Francis to his bedroom, where he began to sort out his magic books.

"This is your room?" said the Frenchman, looking around. "It's so drabby and boring. Do you want me to liven it up a little?"

"Your version of 'liven' is far from the definition of mine," Arthur said. "Touch anything and I'll end your sorry excuse of a life."

Francis retracted his hands from a light switch he'd been tinkering with.

He wasn't such an adept fighter—he ran from fights more than he won them—but when it came down to running and saving his own life, a Frenchman knew best. Francis wished to keep his head, thank you.

"Ah!" Arthur held up torn-up notebook with colourful memos sticking out the sides. "Here it is. I think there should be an appropriate spell in here." He leafed through its contents, looking for the right one.

"Just what in the world are you looking for?" Francis said.

"Oh, not like you would understand. It's very complicated."

"_Oui_? What sort of higher-up spell is it, then?"

"A tracking device."

Francis frowned. "That doesn't sound complicated."

"If you understood sarcasm, then maybe it isn't."

"Why can't you just grab a few tracking devices from your MI6 and stick them on the person yourself?"

"I can't just kick down their door and slap something onto them. Magical tracking devices are better implements because they're wireless, and you can place them on your targets from a kilometre away. It's really less for tracking and more for hearing in."

"I didn't know there was a spell for that."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's a spell for _everything_."

"Doesn't it go somewhere along the lines of 'Dumbledora the Explorer', or something as stupid as that?"

"That's a _summoning_ spell, Frog. There are different incantations for different spells. Depending on which region said spell originated from, it's said in that language and no other. Unfortunately a few have been invented in your country, so if I were to use those spells, I would have to say it in your barbaric tongue, or else the spell would lose its essence. Words are power, you could say—well, safe for your language."

"_La langue française est belle!_"

"Hm, yes. Keep telling yourself that. Thank goodness most of the magical spells are invented in Britain, though. I'd choose Latin and Welsh over French any day."

"_Monsieur_, you cannot keep insulting me if you wish to work together."

"I do not _wish_ anything. And I can insult you however much I like. If you don't like it, you can leave, I don't really need you. After all, you're the one that bastardized the Queen's English, so less of your influence would be nice. For all I know, you're probably the one that keeps making me summon Russia instead of the devil of hell I want."

"He is the devil of hell."

From all the way in his room on floor 18, Russia sneezed.

". . . All right. I'll give you that one. But my point is, I need to rewrite the summoning spell because of you. Now if you don't like this situation we're in, you can leave."

"I want to know what the young ones are doing," said Francis defiantly. "I'm not backing down."

"Good. Now get out of my way. I need room for a spell casting."

Francis stepped back and Arthur commenced by drawing a magic circle in the ground. Afterwards he produced his cloak and swung it around his shoulders, making sure the hood was on before he continued.

"What is the point of that?" Francis said.

"Makes me look cool," said the Englishman. "Now shut up and let me work."

Arthur stepped into the centre of the circle and swished his robes around himself so that he could hold his spellbook without the fabric getting in the way. It looked rather dramatic too.

"Any time," Francis said, tapping his foot on the ground.

"Shut it, Frog. I'm getting on it."

After a bit more of stalling—that's what it looked like in Francis' point of view—Arthur was finally ready to commence the spell casting.

He flipped to the right page and licked his lips. "All right, Frog, if at whatever point of the enchantment you think you might pee your pants, just hurry out the door and there should be the restroom on the right."

"Get on with it!" the Frenchman snapped. "I've seen your spell casting before, _Angleterre_, it's nothing new to me."

"Well, I suppose that makes things a bit easier."

Arthur closed his eyes, and then the magic circle began to glow. It was pale green in colour, smelling strangely of the English countryside.

Next came the perfectly worded enchantments:

"_Mae'r rhai sy'n cadw_ _cyfrinach_," he recited, "_gadewch iddyn nhw gael eu clywed. Mae'r rhai sy'n cael eu cuddio, gadewch iddyn nhw gael eu gweld._"

The glow became almost blindingly intense. Lightning danced between the circle's boundaries, a gale-force wind sweeping around the room and lifting anything not firmly planted on the ground. And still Arthur pushed on.

"_Rwy'n galw allan y pŵer hynafol; gadewch iddyn nhw yn_ _hysbys!_" His whole body was suddenly engulfed by a light. "_Rwy'n rhoi ar chi, gythreuliaid, roedd y swyn o wirionedd!_"

"_Attendez!_" Francis yelled, trying to push through the strong winds. "_Ang__leterre_, _arrêtez! _Stop the spell—you're going to burn up!"

_BANG!_

It was as if a small supernova had gone off inside the room. Francis flew back and slammed against the wall, sliding down in a heap. Arthur stood in the circle, his eyes glowing unnaturally, the spell book abandoned on the floor.

When he spoke next, it was as if he was using a thousand voices: "_Those who keep secrets, let them be heard. Those who are hidden, let them be seen. I call forth the ancient power; let them be known. I place on you, demons . . . the spell of truth._" Next, a single entity spoke, of which wasn't Arthur's voice: "The end shall come; you have been warned."

Arthur collapsed, dazed, onto the floor, just out of reach of the circle. Francis scrambled forward and pulled the Englishman back.

"I thought you said it was a simple spell!" he shouted.

Arthur smiled wistfully, as if he'd just woken up from a dream. "I did. That was supposed to happen."

"Oh, of _course_. Of course that was supposed to happen. What's little me supposed to know about anything? _Pardonez-moi_, _Angleterre_, because, it seems, YOU NEARLY BLEW YOURSELF UP!"

Arthur's smile grew wider. "Do you need the restroom now?"

"'_Ey. Tais-toi._"

But something else caught his eye. Francis lifted his head and stared blankly in front of him, his mouth hanging open.

"Oi, Frog. What are you—?"

Francis helped him turn his head around.

". . . Oh. I see. That's . . . interesting."

A sphere of glass hovered a metre off the ground above the magic circle. In this glass ball, one could witness a blur of movements. Specifically, Gilbert, Ludwig, Feliciano and Lovino were gathered around a desk, speaking in hushed, agitated tones. Alfred was off to the side, pacing.

But it was clear on what they were saying.

"_We're online now. To begin properly searching for the attacker, we need to start someplace. Anybody got an idea? No? Well, I have one. First, let's contact the church . . ._"

* * *

**I bet you can guess who says the last line. And once again, ROMANO GETS THE LAST WORD! (He'll also be getting the first word, too . . .)  
**

**England named his summoning spell after many famous British people, including a certain (ex)headmaster of a certain magic school in Scotland. Also, being an all-knowing, clinically insane country, Russia will also be making an appearance. Well, that one's a no-duh. Let's just say he has figured everything out without doing shit.**

**Oops. Did I give too much away? By the way, my disclaimer has run off on me. Oh well. You all know what hasn't been said anyway. What's the point?  
**

**Lastly, I like to thank Google Translate for the super rough Welsh translations. Muahahaha. If you don't know, England repeats the English translation a bit later after the explosion.  
**


	8. VIII: Revelation

Lovino's hands moved fast across the keyboard. He hit Enter and sat back. "There we go. Now all we have to wait as we get a response."

"I'm confused," said Alfred. "Why are you calling the church?"

"It's not what you think it is," Lovino said, tapping a fingernail on the desk.

Alfred still couldn't understand, as vague as the response was. Feliciano decided to be nice and stepped in, explaining it carefully to America.

"What _fratello_ means is that he can call up the mafia using the messaging system the church uses."

"Isn't that, like, defying Jesus?" asked the American.

Feliciano sighed. "It's not as twisted as you think. It isn't just about raiding shops and shooting everyone from left to right. Lovino and I are catholic, therefore we've joined the church and the mafia into one board. The mafia are an underworld organization, so they need a mediator to connect them to the rest of the globe. This is what the church's purpose is; they serve as the cover for the mafia's existence."

"Don't bother telling him, Feliciano," said Lovino. "It's a long story, and I don't think his attention span can keep up."

"Hey!"

The laptop beeped.

"There," said Lovino. "See? Now all we need to do is ask, and we'll get the information we want."

"Isn't that making them do all the work?" Gilbert said.

"That's the point," Feliciano said. "The mafia sits there all day doing nothing anyway."

"That's not true," Lovino protested.

"You Italians are really lazy, aren't you," Ludwig stated rhetorically.

"Is it okay to pin all the work your henchman?" Alfred said. "That's injustice!"

"That sounds strange, coming from you . . ."

"I am a free country!"

"That has nothing to do with anything."

"Shut up," said Lovino.

The rest of the meeting passed by in relative silence. The nations watched as Lovino worked the computers, forwarding his orders to the mafia while he sifted through dozens of sites and information reports.

The mafia kept sending different documents to his laptop; Lovino scanned through all of them at a surprisingly fast pace. Each piece of information got closer and closer to the answer, the newest pages popping up on top of the old ones, which soon became irrelevant and were automatically sent to the Recycling Bin.

"Dude," Alfred said. "They're sending all this stuff to you? You guys are faster than I thought."

"I told you I was going to hack into the global network database," Lovino answered. "They're looking for and sending information to me in real time, while I sort through what they send me. Since my network is connected to theirs, the government databases are open to all of us. Of course I'm not just sitting here merely reading reports; I'm also gathering intel. It's not that simple, though, even if it appears to be."

"That's a rather fast processor," Ludwig remarked. "What model is it?"

"No idea," Lovino said offhandedly, his eyes trained on the screen. "It's not available to the public yet—and don't get any ideas by breaking apart this thing and mass producing it."

"Damn," Alfred said.

"There!" Feliciano pointed at a documentation. "That one. It's that one."

"You sure?" Lovino said, moving aside the other pages and bringing Feliciano's document forward. The information was still coming, but they popped up behind the selected one. "What makes you think this is it?"

"I knew it," Feliciano said, reading the page over. "Of course the Russians would have something like that."

"What do you mean? What about Russians?" said Gilbert, his drifting attention snapping back at the keyword 'Russians'.

Lovino suddenly smacked his face. "_Dio!_ You're right. Why hadn't I seen this before?"

Feliciano faced his brother. "We need to ask Greece. He's been excavating his mother's ruins for centuries. He's bound to have found something like that over the years."

"But we'd be bringing another into this."

"Do we have a choice?"

Ludwig quickly read over the document. The closer he got to the end, his eyebrows scrunched together, his eyes widening in alarm. "You know what?" he said. "I think we should ask him anyway. We're definitely not bringing Ivan into this."

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Alfred demanded.

Gilbert twirled his finger in a circle. "Didn't we say you were worrying about the guns?"

Alfred scowled and did as Gilbert's finger dictated: he turned and walked away. Afterwards when the sound of running water could be heard, it was revealed that Alfred had wandered into the bathroom.

He was better off there anyhow.

"But it was found first at Russia's," argued Gilbert. "You know Heracles. He's easily offended about anyone intruding on his excavation sites."

"Do you want to live or not?" Lovino said. "It's either ask Greece or get kicked in the ass by Russia. Your choice."

"Well, when you put it that way . . ."

"Let's keep searching, until we're absolutely sure," said Feliciano. "It's late, and Heracles is probably sleeping anyway."

"I don't understand how that guy can sleep all day," Gilbert muttered, shaking his head. "He was sleeping through the meeting, in the middle of all that noise! Imagine if he found out what was really going on. Do you think he'd be able to sleep then?"

"No time to suppose things," Ludwig said. He waved a hand. "Bring up the next page, Lovino."

"I know, I know. Don't tell me what to do, bastard."

The older Italian twin brought forward the newest set of documents. These ones also belonged to Russia's database. If they weren't discreet in this process and erase all evidence of their existence, Ivan would find out about them hacking into his government system . . .

I can't finish that sentence because there wouldn't be anything to write about once Russia is done.

"So to summarize the situation," said Ludwig, "in the 1950's, Russian excavators discovered some old ruins in the northern Ural Mountains region. A few days later, they mysteriously disappear without leaving a trace."

"This next one says that one of them left behind a notebook," pointed out Gilbert. "Man, diaries are awesome. Especially ones belonging to me."

"Don't sway off the subject, _bruder_."

"The notebook was tediously scanned," read Lovino. "It says that they had discovered a great tunnel in these ruins that descended deep into the mountains. It's so deep that when they dropped a torch through, they couldn't even hear it impact the ground. The light from of it flashed out. Actually, the writer says that he wasn't even sure if the light just got so tiny it disappeared, or if it really did hit the cavern floor."

"It's not just a fissure or something?" Gilbert asked.

"I don't think they'd encrypt an article about fissures this prudently," said Feliciano. "There's more to these ruins."

"You're right. Basically, this guy died writing about a pursuer chasing all the excavators to their deaths," Lovino summed up. "He was one of the last ones to be killed. Whatever these ruins were . . . Whatever killed them . . ."

"You think it's the same creature that attacked Antonio?" Ludwig questioned.

"No." Lovino narrowed his eyes at the document. "I _know _it's the same."

"They don't say anymore about the subject," said Feliciano. "Apparently they could gather nothing else from the scene. Not even the bodies were found. There were only the ruins . . . and strangely shaped footprints in the snow."

"We need to know more about these ruins and what happened," Ludwig said. "If it's not Heracles, then I don't see another choice. We'd have to take it up with Ivan."

"We need to speak with Heracles first," said Lovino. "If these creatures that killed the excavators came directly out of the ruins, then there's a good chance that they've established a civilization on this earth at some point. Greece houses one of the most ancient civilizations in the world, complete with all evidence. I don't know about you, but I'd rather find out as much as I can before I go walking straight to my death."

"Agreed," said Feliciano.

"The awesome me wishes to live a little bit longer, so I concur."

Ludwig sighed. "Well, I suppose if you all are being cowards, then so shall I."

"Ve~! Ludwig, I'd knew you'd pull through."

"If only Grandpa Bastard was alive today," Lovino said. "We could ask him about ancient civilizations. I'm sure he would know a thing or two."

"You're right!" Feliciano said. "With all the conquering he did, I'm sure he would have uncovered something strange. Hey, maybe we should go poking in his diaries."

Lovino smirked. "I'd love to see what perverted crap he wrote in there."

"He sounds like an awfully annoying person," Ludwig said. "Figures why my grandfather dumped him."

"Hey, guys," said Alfred, walking out the bathroom. "Do any of you . . . feel like someone's watching us?"

"I'm watching you," said Feliciano.

"No, no . . . I mean, someone other than us?"

"Why?" Ludwig began slowly. "Do _you_ think someone's watching us?"

"Yeah," said Alfred, blinking fast. "I felt it when I looked in the mirror. It reminds me of a spell Arthur told me about once . . . People can use these magic floating mirrors to look in on other people. But he said there was a weakness. It's just . . . I saw myself in the mirror."

"Yeah," said Lovino. "That's what mirrors do."

"NO!" Alfred shouted almost frantically. "I saw the _back_ of me. Someone's spying on us. I think they just heard everything you said."

In unison, the nations glanced at each other. One single thought popped into each of their heads:

_Crap._

* * *

The glass ball shattered and Arthur fell back to avoid the spew of magical shards.

What followed was heavy silence.

"Did you . . ." Francis' voice came out sounding hoarse. "Did you catch all that? I got lost somewhere during 'disappear without a trace'."

Arthur nodded numbly. "Er, yeah. Doesn't mean I can process it, though."

"You do know what this means, don't you?" Francis said. "Antonio _has_ been attacked. Lovino was telling the truth the first time. Strange thing is why he decided to hide the fact afterwards."

"Frog, I think that's because of _what_ attacked Antonio."

"Ah. _Touché._"

"We can't tell anybody about this," Arthur said. He locked eyes with Francis. "We can't. If they found out . . . I understand now. I believe the children had the right idea in keeping this from everyone. We're dealing with something on a much larger scale, bigger than we've ever imagined."

"But if the other nations don't know, they could very well be next. In three days, the World Summit will end and everyone will move on back to their respective countries." Francis frowned. "And when that happens . . . the creature, or whatever attacked Antonio, will not hesitate to bring us down."

"Then I suppose, until then, we will have to protect the others to the best of our abilities."

"Do we tell _les enfants_?"

"It's likely _Alfred's_ suspecting me already, but the both of us need to work on the sidelines. They are taking care of the research. We must also do our part."

"_We?_ You're finally acknowledging my participation in this?"

"Frog, this is the only time when I'll admit I need help, much less _your_ help. Now shut up about it and tell no one."

But something else was bugging Francis.

"_Angleterre_," he said. "What I don't get, if this really is all true, is _why_ this is happening. Why are these _monsters_ attacking nations only?"

Arthur sat back and glared at the ceiling. "You know what? That's a really good question."

The real question, though, was what the people were going to do. If the nations die, what happens to the world?

* * *

**Oh, Hetalia . . . Racism to its finest. That's what I like about this show; you can be racist without offending anybody. Okay, maybe I shouldn't phrase it that way.**

**Hetalia: Where racism is directed at EVERYBODY! :D  
**

**That's better.  
**

**P.S. We're going to have another nation get attacked soon . . . Don't know when, but it's soon.  
**


	9. IX: Transition

**It's finally the weekend! YES! Oh yeah, and I found the disclaimer.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its contents.  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Heracles loved cats.

He owned a couple hundred of them all at once. Even the alley cats he'd unofficially adopted.

And so, when he spotted a cat licking its paws outside his window, he was immediately distracted. He reached out to stroke its orange coat, but the feline leaped away at the last second and descended onto a landing nearby.

The Grecian was one of the few nations that managed to take the first floor of the hotel. He liked solid ground. He'd been around it most of his life, digging up old remnants and memories of his late mother.

However beautiful the sky was, he preferred the earth. And he noted with content that the same blue skies had not changed since when his dear mother ruled . . .

He was getting ahead of himself again. Philosophy tended to sidetrack you at the worst moments.

Heracles poked his head out the open window. He understood that there was a lockdown, but he couldn't sleep with all the high tension zipping around. He needed some clear air desperately.

Maybe he could get out for a bit. Just a little while. He wanted to be with his beloved cats.

He would come back later, of course. He knew the dangers. Back then, at the meeting, he'd been half-awake when South Italy had burst into the room. It was only thirty minutes later had he processed what was really going on.

_Antonio . . . has been attacked . . ._

Heracles crawled out the window and jumped down onto the pavement below. To the right, he saw the orange cat duck behind a corner. The Grecian followed its trail, calling to it every so often.

"Don't go," he told it quietly. "It's bedtime, you know. You shouldn't be . . . walking around."

As he turned the corner, a dark puddle of liquid caught his eye. It leaked towards his feet, and Heracles lifted his shoe, studying the _plip-plip_ of the liquid falling onto the pavement.

It was dark, and he couldn't see very well, but judging from opacity of the fluid, it couldn't have been water. Maybe oil from a broken gas tank while it was being transported?

His eyes travelled upwards.

And then his heart stopped.

Lying in the same pool of dark liquid flowing towards his feet, was the beautiful orange tabby, its former glistening coat smeared with—

_Oh, God._

"No," he said.

Blood. The tabby was lying in a pool of blood.

It wasn't moving, and it wasn't breathing. Heracles found the gears in his ever-flowing head of ideas grind to a halt.

A shadow flitted behind him. Heracles turned as his peripherals caught the movement on the wall to his left.

It happened so . . . so _fast_. He was only a few steps behind the cat, and not even a second later, it was attacked. By the time he'd reached the corner, the blood had already flowed from the animal to his feet. That meant that whatever killed it was fast and able.

Heracles had a _really_ bad feeling about this.

There was a lockdown for a reason, and now he was to pay for it.

Heracles glanced over his shoulder, but for some reason, what he saw didn't really surprise him.

A blank, eyeless face loomed down at him, its jagged mouth dripping with blood.

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure?" Ludwig asked Alfred. "You could be seeing things."

"I'm positive," said the American. "I know what I saw. I know what I felt. It's a magical spell, and whoever used it knows everything that's going on. All the research you did, everything we discussed . . . They know."

Lovino broke out into a cursing fest, rage-quitting in Italian while Feliciano tried to calm him down.

Gilbert appeared thoughtful.

"I think this could work out in our favour," he said.

"Are you mad?" Ludwig blurted out. "This is terrible!"

"_Bruder_, I suggested telling the others from the beginning. I may not act like it, but I am your older brother, and I know better than you do. It's a good thing that someone knows."

"What if it's not a nation? We'd be done for!"

"What regular mortal knows magic, hmm? It could be just one of England's brothers playing a prank on us. You know them. They never do anything and just go to the tavern to drink their asses off."

"It could be Arthur," said Alfred. "I mean, it is _his_ spell, and he's the one that told me about it."

"No, really," said Ludwig. "Who is it _really_?"

"I'm serious."

"Okay, fine, so it's a nation," said Lovino, tossing his words into the air and pacing aimlessly around the room. He had finally settled down, though it seemed like he was looking for the nearest person to strangle. "So what? It's not a big deal, right? If they know, they can help out. So why . . . why do I feel like things are going to get worse?"

"I have the same feeling," said Feliciano. "We don't know who's found out exactly. It could be Arthur, it could be another nation that has magical capabilities. Either way, we can't control whether they want to show themselves to us or not."

"So what? We wait it out?" said Alfred. "That doesn't sound productive to me."

"We'll have to continue with what we're doing at the moment. And that's finding Greece so we can have a chat with him."

"Whoever knows will tell everyone else. Pretty soon we'll have people coming to us demanding to know what's going on." Ludwig glanced around the room, meeting eyes with his fellow nations. "Can you all handle the pressure?"

"We will have to," said Gilbert.

"I don't think there are other options," Feliciano spoke.

Lovino scowled, arms crossed. Alfred glared at the opposite wall, as if whoever had been watching was still there, and he was sending a thousand curses in their direction.

"So I guess we have a plan now," said Lovino. "Then we best get going. We don't have all night, and when day comes, the other nations will become more aware."

"We also can't afford to miss any of the meetings," Ludwig added. "They are still a priority."

"We should check on Antonio, see how Matthew is doing with his treatment," suggested Feliciano.

Lovino was at the bedroom door and opening it before anyone could react. He stepped through and Alfred followed afterwards.

Antonio was lying, sleeping soundly, in the bed, his torso bare and bandaged up. His breathing had evened out drastically and was not the raggedy sounding wheeze it had been back at his apartment. Matthew was sitting fast asleep next to him, his head lying atop the First Aid Kit he'd brought in to treat Antonio.

"That can't be comfortable," Gilbert noted, looking over their heads on his tippy-toes.

"I guess the two of them will be staying here," Ludwig sighed. "Less people the better, I suppose."

"I'm rather inclined to stay," Lovino muttered.

"They'll be fine." Alfred moved over to his brother and placed his favourite gun into Matthew's hand. "If anything goes wrong . . . Well, when he sees this, he'll know what to do."

"The creature is fast, if it could bypass Antonio so easily."

Alfred turned and smirked. "Have you forgotten? My brother is a freakin' ninja. He's capable, all right. Now we ought to get going. Lock the door."

Lovino stood frozen in his place. Feliciano laid a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, but unlike the usual, Lovino didn't shrug it off.

"Antonio will be fine," he said. "I'm sure of it."

Lovino remained silent for an instant, and then released a shuddering breath, all the tension from the day's frustration and concerns being lifted from his body. He nodded in acceptance.

"All right. Let's go."

The Italian brothers moved off, closing the door, and joining the rest of the nations. The last person out locked the hotel suite door, and then together they all made their way down the hallway, towards the elevators.

It was time to get some business underway.

* * *

Arthur and Francis were seated around a small coffee table, both too absorbed in their thinking to pay attention to the other.

Francis busied himself with stirring a cup of tea in a trance-like state, the spoon going around in circles over and over again. Although, he failed to notice that the beverage had gone cold a long time ago.

Arthur was gripping his chin with a hand, his elbow leaning against the arm of the chair as his leg bounced up and down impatiently.

He glared at the round surface of the table and oddly recalled a distant memory of the past. He didn't know why he conjured up this memory, but it replayed in his head, the scene from whence he was known as King Arthur, sitting at the Round Table amidst all his loyal knights of Camelot . . .

It had been a long time ago. He wouldn't call it a particularly fond memory, but at the present moment, he wanted to escape.

Escape to anywhere but here.

"What are we going to do," Francis stated, breaking the silence. "That's the question. We can't keep ignoring it."

Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. "Thanks for bringing it up; I was doing a real good job succeeding at it, too."

"You heard what they said. It's not something that should be put aside. We need to act _now_."

"_We_ don't have to do anything," Arthur said. "As far as I know, they hadn't intended us to hear what they were saying. Now that I know, I wish we hadn't found out the way we did. I realize why they wanted to keep things a secret." The Briton placed his head in his hands. "It's an utter nightmare."

"Well . . ." Francis searched for anything to say. He settled with what he kept telling himself during the World Wars. "We can't just run away."

Arthur sat there quietly, his face obscured behind his hands. Francis imagined the Englishman combating the tears that were threatening to spill. There were times where the situation was just so frustrating that one had to break down and let loose all the pent-up anger. The nation of England didn't often perform such an act, meaning his emotional state was even more fragile than others. This had to have been a first for him.

"That's what you keep saying, right?" Francis leaned to the side, trying to get a look at England's expression. "_Angleterre?_ You're not crying, are you?"

"Sorry." Arthur raised his head, sucking in a long stream of air. "You're right. Running away is more of your area of expertise, anyway. Don't know what I was saying there."

"I feel like I should be angry," Francis said. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but you just insulted me."

"Insulting you raises my morale. Don't take it personally."

". . ." Francis looked out the window, glancing up towards the star-dotted sky. "Remind me again why I'm even working with you?"

"Because if you didn't form an alliance with a greater power, you'd die in a millisecond."

Francis tilted in his head in exasperation. "How in the _world _do you do that?"

"Hm? Do what?"

"_That_." Francis pointed straight between Arthur's eyes, causing the Englishman to go cross-eyed. "How do you manage to insult me, compliment yourself, _and_ speak the truth at the same time?"

Arthur smiled smugly. "Well. Take some lessons from me, ol' chap. If you can't fight, you can still use words. Frankly, you're not very good at both, so might as well, eh?"

"There. You did it again."

"Which reminds me," Arthur said, suddenly jumping to another topic, "I was thinking . . ."

"Does it involve another magical stunt?"

Arthur frowned. "No. I was rather thinking of approaching Russia, actually."

Francis stood and started straight for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"You can go ahead and die alone, _Angleterre_. I'm not coming."

"Honestly! It's not that bad of an idea!"

"Er, _oui_. It is."

"You heard them talking about asking Russia about the article published in his archives! They said that if it wasn't Greece, then they would go directly to Ivan. We should take the opportunity to consult him first, seeing as they're obviously going for Heracles."

Francis took a wary step back. "And you're sure it'll work?"

"If we offer Ivan the right bargaining chip, we can get answers out of him."

". . . If I agree to come, then you'll have to be the one to knock on the door."

Arthur sighed. "Fine. But one question."

"_Ouais?_"

"D'you've got any vodka?"

* * *

**Next chapter: Greece**

**Will he fall? Will be stand victorious? Who knows? And maybe there will be a guest star . . .  
**

**Things are heating up. I wonder what Russia will do . . . I wonder who finds out the secret next . . . Who will be attacked next? Oh, so many questions, so little time.  
**


	10. X: Greece

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**If I did, the Nordics will get more screen-time. Why? Because they're awesome. xD But Sweden is REALLY hard to write. I mean, his dialogue consists of everything but vowels. Seriously! All separated by a comma, too... I'd rather die than write his dialogue.  
**

**Bleh.  
**

* * *

Heracles dropped and rolled backwards as the creature took a swipe at him.

When it realized it had missed its target, the creature growled heinously and charged at the nation.

Greece got low on his haunches, getting ready to dodge to the side when the monster came in a three feet distance from him. Sleeping all the time had its affects, good and bad. He was now rested, and alert, but he was slower than usual.

_I can't . . . keep up._

He stepped aside just in time for the creature to fly past him. He swore its claws nicked his hair. Heracles immediately spun around, not risking to take his eye off the creature for a second.

It wasn't just his hair.

A three pronged streak opened up in his cheek. Blood slid down the side of his face. The cool, night air stung his newest acquired wound.

The smell of blood seemed to have aroused the monster even more. Saliva dripped from its wide-rimmed mouth, mixing and leaking into the blood on its front. The creature brought up its claws and licked Heracles' blood off of it.

Heracles grimaced. _How can I win? I can't keep this up forever. I don't have weapons . . . I don't have the stamina to last me a full fight. I can barely defend myself as it is. All I can do is run._

What he needed first, he decided, was some high ground. Maybe he could evade the creature and go around to the ladder leading onto the landing, the one that the orange tabby used to get onto the ground.

It was risky. But what choice did he have?

_It knows. It knows every one of our weaknesses. _

Heracles sprinted full speed to the left of the creature. He scrambled up the landing and then drew up the ladder so the creature couldn't follow.

Though, if it was such a capable killer, then it wouldn't even need a ladder to get to him.

_These things have done their research. But perhaps I can surprise them. To beat them . . . To beat them, us nations need to go down a road to where we haven't gone before. It understands I detest not being on the firm, solid ground. It wouldn't expect me to attack all the way up here . . ._

"Ο Θεός να με βοηθήσει," he prayed.

The creature lingered underneath the landing. It was facing and bumping at the wall, as if finding the perfect place to climb up.

Of course. What else were those claws for other than cleaving flesh in two?

_I have to hurry. I can't stall forever._

And Heracles launched himself off the landing.

He fell smack-dab onto the back of the monster and kept his arms tight around its long neck. The Grecian hung on for dear life as the creature lashed its head from side-to-side, bent on getting rid of the thing that intruded on its personal space.

It wasn't a pleasant experience, getting whipped from left to right by an animal stronger than a bucking bull. Heracles felt like his arms were going to snap off.

Then the creature turned around. No, let me rephrase that.

The creature's _head_ swivelled completely 180. At first Heracles was shocked still by the sight of rows-on-rows of sharp teeth, but when a long tongue reached out to taste his face, he was done.

Heracles let go and fell onto the pavement.

Okay, scratch everything. Getting licked in the face was, by far, the worst experience yet. He nearly lost his head in the process, too.

The creature raised its arm. Heracles was only halfway through standing and getting far, far away when its arm came down like a guillotine.

If he was a normal human, his head would have come right off. Thankfully, he was a nation and therefore much, much stronger than the average mortal.

Heracles, instead, was sent vaulting through the air and into a concrete wall. The impact was deafening as the structure altogether collapsed.

The Grecian got to his feet shakily as the ruins of the wall crumbled around him. A huge wound above his forehead sent blood flowing down his face, rendering an eye unusable.

He wiped sweat away from his brow.

Dammit, he caught the creature off-guard for a moment, but that didn't erase the fact that _he had no weapon!_ How was he supposed to injure it at least a little bit?

_If I go, who will miss me?_

That's right . . . Did he have anybody worth living for? Were there any people who would miss him if he were to die? Was this struggle pointless? Regardless, the odds weren't in his favour.

Heracles collapsed to his knees.

_But I don't want to die.__ Mother left everything to me . . . I can't just give up. What happens to my country if I disappear? There's that bastard Turkey I still have to settle things with. There's . . . There's Japan. He was the only friend I had in a long, long time. _

_And everyone . . . Everyone seated around that long table, every single nation. I'll miss seeing them everyday. Even if they bicker loudly, causing me to lose precious sleep . . .  
_

_It wouldn't be the same.  
_

"That's enough."

Heracles raised his head. A glint of shiny metal blocked his view.

"You're not alone, Heracles-san. We will fight together, ne?"

Greece glanced up with his single good eye.

"Ki . . . ku . . ."

Japan turned and smiled. "That's right. You're not alone. You are going to live. What happens to the world if you choose to turn you back and abandon it? We'd lose an important piece of the Earth's history and culture. You're important, Heracles-san, despite what you might think."

"But how did you . . . ?"

Kiku Honda switched his attention back on the monster. "It is my duty to read the atmosphere and judge my actions based on that," he said, frowning. "I felt a disturbance in the air. Also, I do believe that this act of violence has warranted total extermination of the offender."

"B-be careful. It's fast."

Kiku nodded. "Can you fight?"

"I can't even stand."

"That's all right. I'll be taking care of this, then."

By now, the monster had probably realized the newest partaker in battle. It stood completely still, as if it was analyzing its opponent. Then, without warning, it charged forward.

Kiku had his katana up in a blocking position, but the creature was stronger than he thought. His feet grazed the concrete as he was being pushed back.

Finally he managed to break lose and jump back to reassess the situation.

Japan narrowed his eyes.

_It's definitely intelligent. But even so, shouldn't it have known the amount of security around here? Why attack Greece? Why not another nation? There are plenty of choices in this building. With its claws, it has no problems climbing up and breaking in . ._ .

Unless . . . Unless it was sent to attack Heracles specifically?!

Greece must've realized Kiku figured it out, because he shouted over: "It knows!"

Kiku risked a glance to the side.

"It knows!" Heracles repeated. Every word seemed to pain him. "It knows my weaknesses. I think it was sent to attack _me_. If you fight it, I think it will have a hard time adjusting to your abilities."

"But why?!"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because there are more of them, and a specific set has been ordered to find a certain nation. But I'm not sure yet. Do whatever it takes to defeat it! If it reports to its leader that I'm alive and it failed to kill me, they might send more. We cannot compromise the safety of the other—No, WATCH OUT!"

Kiku barely blocked the next strike. There was no time for talk now; he had to focus on defeating this nightmare.

Heracles slid back and propped himself up against a jutting rock, watching Kiku run back and forth, trading blows with the monster. The battle didn't seem to go anywhere.

They were evenly matched.

So that meant his theory was right. Kiku was definitely more faster than he was, more agile.

The creature was having a hard time adjusting to Kiku's speed, unlike earlier where it totally mopped the floor with him. Heracles tried to figure out a strategy from his place on the ground.

_There's no need to cause panic. We don't have to tell the others. We don't need the officers knowing. We better hurry up and end this, or this scene will cause a commotion.  
_

Kiku jumped onto the creature's arm as it swung down towards him, and he used his sword sheath to knock it in the side of the head. With his blade, he slashed across the neck, but like he feared, there was not a scratch on it.

"What tough skin," he murmured, retreating.

Antonio had been attacked, right? But he was alive, judging from Romano's words. That meant he killed the creature. If not, then he would have surely died, so . . .

How did he kill it?

The land of Japan had been once filled with magic and mystery. He thought his country had lost the ability of the Sight. But despite everything, magic still existed—he just couldn't see it. Ever since Arthur's visit, he'd been trying hard to reattain his Sight.

Kiku called on that ancient power from deep within his soul and channelled it straight into his blade. The feeling was familiar, and then not so. He hadn't done this in thousands of years. Closing his eyes, he was once again thrust into that era of euphoria and nostalgia, of bloodshed and war.

Then he prepared himself by going into an offensive stance, ready to end it once and for all.

As if sensing this unknown power, the creature took a hesitate step backward, and then bolted altogether. It ran into the shadows and flashed out of existence.

Kiku let out a breath and sheathed his katana.

"What the hell happened?" Heracles said. "Did it just . . . run away?"

"I believe so," said Kiku. "However, this is no time to be worrying about that. We need to treat your wounds."

"I'm fine. I'm rather worried about getting out of here before the government officers find us. It would cause panic amongst the nations, and once their respective countries find out, there will be another global war. We can't have . . ."

"I understand. Let's get inside before the government officers find out what's going on. My guess is, they won't be too pleased, especially after we destroyed hotel property."

"Do you think . . ."

Kiku quirked an eyebrow.

"Is this what attacked Antonio?"

". . . I don't think that's a definite as of the moment. We need to ask the witness personally. And last time I checked, the second closest witnesses have not returned from wherever they've gone off to. Now, I believe it's time to get you checked out."

Heracles briefly registered the wave of dizziness washing over him. He nodded. "That sounds about right."

Kiku helped the Grecian stand and using the elevation of the landing, the two returned back into the hotel through Heracles' open window. Kiku needed to procure some Japanese herbs in order to treat him, so he briefly left his patient to gather them.

But first, he barred all the entrances. If the creature was really after Heracles, it would definitely come back. Who knows what it was doing out there.

In the distance, sirens wailed. The night wasn't even half over.

Kiku practically jogged through the halls up to his room. He didn't feel at ease leaving Greece all by himself.

And just when he got the medicine he needed, he bumped into Turkey.

Well, shit.

"Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?" said the Turk, a toothbrush in his mouth. He looked halfway between getting ready for bed. He was in his pajama pants, but he was still wearing a tie.

"Where are _you_ going in such a hurry?" Kiku retorted flippantly.

"Whoa." Turkey, or Sadik Adnan, held his hands up in surrender. "Didn't mean to offend. I was just going down to grab a few more towels. With this lockdown and everything, the staff have gone home, leaving us to get things for ourselves. But hey . . ." He frowned at the bandages and ointments the Japanese man was carrying. "What's all that for?"

"Nothing you need to be worrying about," Kiku replied politely. "Goodnight, Sadik."

He turned to leave, but Turkey and his strange accent didn't allow him to ignore it.

"Is someone hurt?"

"Well, obviously."

"I'm going to go downstairs anyway. Maybe I could help out."

Kiku eyed him warily. "I don't . . . think so. If I told you who it was, you wouldn't want to help out."

"Oh, come on! Who is it? Tell me."

"That is none of your business, Sadik-kun."

Kiku started walking away, but being the persistent person he was, Sadik followed.

Japan found himself with no choice. He led the Turk towards Greece's room.

"Hey," said Sadik. "Isn't this . . . ?"

"Hai," Kiku sighed.

He pushed open the door. The inside was dark, so when the light from the hallway washed over the room, it bathed the inside with an eerie glow. Heracles Karpusi, otherwise known as Greece, was sitting in a chair, his hair and shirt matted with blood, glaring over in Turkey's direction.

For some odd reason, Sadik felt a sense of rage and over-protectiveness for his former charge. He took a step forward.

"Who did th—?"

Heracles, on the other hand, wasn't that much inclined to see his ex-guardian. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Kiku found the situation getting more awkward and awkward by the second.

* * *

**Oh, Japaaaaaaaannnnnnnn~! We've got a badass over here. Ah, thank goodness Greece survived. He's a cool guy. I figured that perhaps this chapter isn't about _him_ changing, but rather seeing another side of Japan, the more magical and mythical side. **

**Next time: If Japan didn't defeat the creature, then where has it gone? It will be revealed soon~  
**

**Also, next chapter is more about England's/France's meeting with Russia. Then it will be the Italybros/Germany/Prussia/America approaching Greece, and so on and so forth.  
**


	11. XI: Superstitious Legends

Francis didn't have a lot of alcohol on him, and the majority was authentic French wine. There was only so much you could fit in your suitcase, after all.

When Arthur suddenly asked him whether he had vodka, he was in the middle of saying 'no'. But then, why should he lie? He wanted to know the truth just as much as the annoying Englishman. They had a common goal here. There was no point in wasting it.

For once in his long life, Francis wasn't getting kicked in the ass by England and his merry band of allies. This was an omen of good relations.

"It's very expensive," he warned Arthur.

The Englishman's eyes twinkled. "Even better!"

Francis sulked. "I knew you'd say that."

"Which is why Ivan wouldn't be able to resist it," Arthur pointed out. "He'll be telling us everything in no time."

"I'm starting to hate your plans."

". . ."

"_Pardon-moi_. I've always hated your plans."

"That's better. Honestly, we've known each other since the beginning of time. You learn rather quickly, though, Frog. Your continuous military losses is proof of that."

"I don't see how—"

"It also seems you know how to lose in the most sufficient way possible."

"I will strangle you."

"Resistance is futile. Now come on_—_we have some vodka to bring to a certain psychopathic Russian!"

"Your cheeriness is starting to affect my vibes. . ."

"But isn't he more of a sociopath?" Arthur supposed to himself, moving towards the door. "Being constantly alone has its consequences."

"Are you sympathizing with him?" Francis said, stepping out into the hall.

Arthur shrugged. He closed the door and locked it with his room key. "I wouldn't say sympathizing. But I know how it feels to be alone."

"Ah." The Frenchman started for the elevators. "So you admit you're the black sheep of Europe."

Arthur was quiet.

Francis frowned at the silence. "_Angleterre?_" he said. Usually Arthur would snap at him or jump at him, and the two would brawl, but not this time. "Britain? Stupid Englishman? Are you still there?"

"I know how it feels like to be alone," Arthur repeated, walking past him. "That's all."

The two waited in the hall as the elevator took its time to reach them. It must have been way up on the last floor or something.

"What's with you?" Francis said. "You normally wouldn't act this way."

"I'm _tired_, Frog," said Arthur, as his own way of explanation. "It's been a long day."

"You sound so old. It's probably the age talking. First you're happy, and then you're melancholic. Mood swings, much?"

Arthur just shook his head, scoffing at the childishness of his rival. "If you knew my circumstances, you'd understand. Ever since the beginning, I've been alone. Being so old, most of the nations today weren't around during the time I was born. Even then, my brothers wanted nothing to do with me. They haven't talked to me in a while. Sure, Scotland, Wales and Ireland raised me, but they seem to enjoy invading me much more."

"You can't say Russia is the same way."

The elevator doors slid apart. The two climbed on and selected floor 23, where Francis' room was. He insisted on getting a room as far away from England as possible. Russia was only five floors below him.

"No," said Arthur. "You're right. Most people are too afraid to invade Russia."

Francis choked out a laugh.

"And yes, Russia doesn't have the same circumstances as I do. In his country, there have been centuries-old conflicts and bloodshed. He was so _young_, and to see all that . . . You'd think he'd be more insane than he presently is. I don't know how he manages it, but he's held his mind intact for that long.

"In that cold, barren wasteland lies a heart full of sunshine and fields of sunflowers. That's where he wishes to be. And being so big, there aren't many he could hold close. Eventually he'd lose sight of them in the distance. Having only two sisters is proof of that."

"Yes, while you have a billion siblings and cousins."

"That's not the point, Frog." Arthur cocked his head to the side. "Well, if you could count America's blasted state, you could say Russia has an offspring. But I think he's forgotten about Alaska by now."

"You mean he forced himself to forget. Once he sold Alaska to Alfred, gold was discovered there. He knows that that was the biggest mistake of his life."

"Ivan is not interested in the money," Arthur said, "although when you take a good look at his economy, you'd know he needs it."

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. Arthur held the elevator at a standstill as Francis raced to his room to grab the vodka. He was back in a span of two minutes.

"What took you so long?" Arthur demanded. "Were you grooming yourself in the mirror?"

Francis was shocked. "How dare you say such a thing! I have sacrificed all my grooming time to finding this damned bottle of vodka. I seem to have misplaced it."

"Yeah, no shit. Let's just hurry, all right?"

Arthur jabbed at the elevator button with attitude and selected floor 18. The elevator shook and wobbled and then finally decided to descend.

"Here's the plan," said Arthur.

"Oh! Wonderful. Another plan." Francis did not appear amused. "What is it _now_?"

"I knock. I present the vodka. If he lets us in, I'll do the talking."

"What do I do?"

"You stay at the side on standby."

"For what?"

"To run. It's what you're good at."

Francis couldn't resist the urge to face palm. In a very elegant, French-like fashion, of course.

He was so, _so_ glad the elevators stopped at that point. Arthur would've been oh-so happy to insult him a little more. The Englishman even seemed visibly disappointed.

"Well," said Francis. "We're here." He gestured towards the outside. "You first, _Angleterre_."

Arthur rolled his eyes but complied. As the elevators shut behind them, the Brit scoured the hallways.

"Now let's see," he mumbled. "Where is his room again?"

"You're the one with the brilliant plans," Francis retorted.

"_Ohhhh_ . . ." Arthur hummed to himself, as if he just came with something brilliant. "Wait a tick, Frog. I have an idea."

"Great."

Arthur ignored his sarcasm. With the vodka bottle held high above his head, he roared: "VOOOOODDDDDKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAA !"

"C'est quoi ce bordel?" Francis hissed. "Shut up, _idiote_! You're so loud!"

Francis could've sworn Arthur had, at that point in time, gone insane.

But when a single door opened on that floor, the Frenchman was proven wrong.

"_Vodka?_" Russia, or Ivan Braginski, poked his head out his door. "Become one with Russia, _da_?"

_The hell?_ _That makes no sense!_

Francis decided to not question anything anymore. It would just give him a headache.

"Ivan, ol' chap!" Arthur greeted brightly, parading over to Russia and waving the vodka. "How are you doing? Fancy a drink? I've got aplenty over here~!"

_Lord help me_, Francis thought. _He's using Feliciano's squiggles. _

"Mmm," Ivan thought. "What is the occasion?"

"Nothing really," said Arthur. "Just thought we might get drunk and tell tales of the past. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You seem to do it with China a lot."

Ivan seemed thoughtful.

_He's actually considering it!_ Francis was surprised. Was this Arthur's plan all along, to get him drunk so he'd spill everything?

Wait . . . _could_ Ivan even get drunk?

"Okay," said Russia. "Come in."

Arthur turned and flashed Francis a thumbs-up before stepping into the _Land of No Return_. Francis, however, resisted the urge to run away and followed them inside.

Ivan's room looked . . . unexpectedly pleasant.

"Nice place," Francis commented.

"Ah, thank you, comrade. But I have done nothing with it."

". . . Oh." Awkward silence. "Oh, no. It's just—you haven't done anything _horrible_ with it."

"I appreciate your sentiment."

"You're welcome? . . . I guess?"

"All right, you can shut up now, Frog," Arthur coughed not-so-discreetly.

"So," said Ivan. "You want to get drunk, _da_?"

"Er, yes. But not too much. I fear tonight might be one of my . . . worst days."

Francis' eyes widened. "Oh no. _No_. You are most definitely _not_ drinking, then." He snatched the bottle away from Arthur's hand and gave it to Ivan, who started caressing the bottle like it was little kitten. "You are not getting a single drop of this, you hear?"

"Why?" said Ivan. "Vodka is beautiful."

"Not when you have an eighteenth century pirate plundering after your ass."

"Oh my." Ivan seemed vaguely surprised, as if he was only pretending. "That is bad news, indeed."

Arthur crossed his arms in a brooding silence. "Well, I assumed—"

"You _assumed_ incorrectly," said Francis. "You're a terrible enough drunk as it is, crying and wailing over your parental failings. I will not have you returning back into your pirate personality and looting every single thing that has a keyhole or lock on it. We're supposed to keep this mission a secret."

"Well it _was_," Arthur announced to the ceiling. "But apparently some dumbass decided to TELL THE WORLD!"

". . . _Désolé._"

"Mmhmm. You should be! Now it's not a secret mission anymore, but a regular mission. Look what you did, stupid Frogface!"

"I think you're exaggeration a bit there, _Angleterre_. There are only three of us in the room, and two of which already know of the mission."

Arthur gestured wildly at Russia. "This is the _largest country in the world_ we're talking about here. He practically _owns_ the northern hemisphere!"

"Mission?" said Ivan, smiling. "That seems interesting. Do you mind telling me about this mission?"

The two blonds stopped bickering.

"How about a drink first?" Arthur suggested.

"Ooh, drink. I like vodka."

_Is everyone THAT narrow minded?_ Francis mentally screamed.

"No, but seriously," said Ivan. "You present me with vodka, you compliment my room . . . So I want to ask you what exactly it is you are trying to weasel out of me."

"Weasel?" Arthur said. "No. No weaseling. There is no weaseling going on."

"_Reeeaaaallly?_"

"_Reeeaaaallly_."

"Okay. Then I want to know what information you're looking for."

"Who said we were looking for information?"

"Russia knows everything, _da_?" Ivan said. "Just ask, little pathetic man. You have given me the gift of vodka. I do return debts, despite what the rumours may say about me.

Arthur and Francis glanced at each other, telepathically debating on whether or not they should proceed to tell Ivan what they're looking for, or hold back on the truth.

"Ivan," began Arthur, "are you aware of a ruins in northern Ural where members of a excavation party died immediately after its discovery?"

The Russian's ever-present smile grew wider. "Why, of course. A couple of monsters came out of the earth and ate them."

"Oh . . . kay," said Francis, struggling not to throw up. "So these creatures ate the scientists. _Merveilleux_. And you say they came out of the earth? As in they live underground?"

"_Da_. But they are not human."

"Well, obviously not," Arthur said.

"What are they?" Francis asked.

Ivan shrugged. "Nobody really knows. But there is an old superstitious tale in my country about them . . . In my mother tongue, they are called 'Frost Men'."

"Frost Men?"

"Yes. Frost Men. Of course, they are not only limited to my country, so they're not really men of the frost. But they are pale, pale creatures, so they blend in well with snow. They are not really men either. They are very old, very strange people of the distant past. I do not know what's become of them."

"What do you mean?" Francis said.

"They are warped, twisted," said Ivan, shaking his head. "They disappeared underground and changed. They do not resemble people anymore. A long, long time ago, they lived on this land, where we stand. Now they are reduced to nothing more than ghosts." Ivan suddenly had a thought. "Oh, maybe I will tell this story to America, see if he gets scared."

"Er, no, I think we could do without World War 3," said Arthur, holding up a hand.

"_Da._ Okay. But everyone will become one with Russia eventually."

"I . . . don't know how to respond to that."

"Oh, now I have question," said Ivan.

"Shoot."

"Um, let's see . . . Ah yes! I want to ask you how you know about the subject of this. Last time I checked, it has been encrypted in the farthest reaches of my governmental database."

Arthur's heart rate sped up and he unintentionally looked to Francis for help. Why would anyone ask for _his_ help, you ask? They don't. The Frenchman was just as at a loss to do as he was. _Useless imbecile._

"Might as well tell me the truth," Ivan said. "You are dealing with me after all."

_He's right,_ Francis' look said.

_Yes, but we might die anyway if we tell him_, Arthur's look replied.

"All right, we'll spill," Francis said.

"Frog—!"

"We were looking in on documents . . ."

"Ah, I see," said Ivan. "You hacked into my database and procured these documents. I hope you didn't see anything else."

"No, no, of course not. Only these documents. We're particularly interested about the subject."

"I'm impressed, Frog. We're not dead yet."

"_Oui_, and no thanks to you!"

"But it is only superstition," said Ivan. "So why? You don't think these creatures are real?"

"Plenty real, we're guessing," said Arthur. "Because we were actually spying on the Italy brothers and the others. They were researching about a particular subject, and your article about these 'Frost Men' came up with a red light. We just came to find out what exactly we're dealing with here."

"And now you know."

"Yes. That doesn't necessarily erase all the question I have, however. In fact, the amount of questions has doubled since coming here."

"Then without further ado," said Ivan, pouring himself a glass of vodka, "ask away."

"Right, then . . . Erm, I don't suppose you have a journal on you or anything?"

"Specifically what sort of journal?"

"Of the one that belonged to the scientist that died excavating those ruins in the Ural Mountains. He was one of the last to be killed by the Frost Men. If you have it on you, we want to examine it." Arthur considered it, then added as an afterthought, "Please."

"Hmm," said Ivan. "Okay. Since you asked so nicely. But you will have to use your magic to conjure it. I will give you the coordinates."

"Got it. Thanks."

"In exchange," Ivan continued, "I want in."

"What? In? In on what?"

"Do not play dumb, Arthur. Whatever you've gotten yourself into—I want to be included. You say the Frost Men are real? I want to see it with my own eyes."

Francis glanced at Arthur. "I don't think—"

"Fine," Arthur stated. "You're in. But I'd imagine if I said no, you would've gotten yourself involved somehow anyway."

"Correct, silly pirate fool. Also, I would've added a little beating along with that."

"But we're allies!"

"_Da_. However, the contract stated we fight alongside each other against other opposing countries. We are not dealing with countries. We're not even dealing with humans. Therefore, I can beat you around a little over the matter of Frost Men."

"Just . . . Just give me the coordinates," Arthur stammered. "Hurry it up; if we drag this out, the others may be finished their talk with Greece and come up here as we speak."

"Ah, Greece? He is an obvious next choice to talk besides me. Yes, the coordinates. 55º 45' 15'' N and 37º 35' 40'' E. Hidden beneath a vault in Moscow."

"Thanks." Arthur stretched out his limbs and produced his spellbook. "Right. Stand back, lads. A small object such as a notebook won't be too hard to summon. Just in case, hang on to something."

Arthur didn't even have to say anything; Francis subconsciously latched onto a door handle. Ivan simply raised his eyebrows and stood there. ("Nothing will faze me, _da_?")

And then, the spell commenced.

Like earlier, Francis noted, an indoor hurricane swept through the interior, carrying small objects within its gale-force. A strange, eerie light surrounded the one island nation, the air now smelling like a rainy fall day in central London.

Odd enough, it began to snow.

"Concentrate," Ivan suggested. "You are starting to summon other things from my country."

"I'm _trying_," Arthur grounded out through clenched teeth.

"Think about the journal's properties only. Block out everything else."

It looked to Francis that Arthur didn't appreciate Ivan's . . . _advice_, but it seemed to be working. It eventually stopped snowing, and Arthur seemed more at peace than usual, his face calm and sleep-like.

The wind gradually died down, and then a bright light flashed into existence. Both Francis and Ivan shielded their eyes; Arthur's body was nearly unidentifiable in this blinding light. His spell-casting pressed on until the end of the incantation.

Once the glow faded, a smoking bundle of papers was seen in the middle of the room. Arthur opened his eyes and snapped shut his spellbook.

"There. Now that that's over with . . ." He bent down to examine the notebook. "A little bit scorched on the outside, but still intact. This is the right journal?"

Ivan picked up the notebook and flipped through its contents. "Yes. It's the right one."

"You okay there, _Angleterre_?" Francis said. "Not woozy or anything?"

"Why?" Arthur smirked. "You worried about me?"

"_Non_. You are wrong. I simply wanted to check if you were truly in-adept at channelling magic. After last time's display, I would think you've lost your touch."

Arthur scowled. "Hmph, well, as you can see, I'm one hundred percent fine."

"You two," called Ivan. "Come here and look. I think you'd might want to come see this."

The two blonds gathered at either side of Russia and peered down at the journal. Both their eyes widened simultaneously.

Ivan smiled.

"B-bloody hell," said Arthur. "This is . . ."

"_Da_. This changes things, doesn't it?"

"Like hell it does! We need to show this to the others—there is no way we're working separately from them knowing that these _things_ are really . . ."

"_Oui_," said Francis, gulping. "This isn't a strictly private matter anymore—it involves the whole world. If no one knows the real truth, then we are most definitely doomed to extinction."

On these crinkled, weather-worn pages was a rough sketching of a Frost Man, along with some very interesting details regarding its ancestry. It seemed the owner of the journal hadn't exactly _died_.

Because the journal was filled to the brim with research notes about Frost Men.

* * *

**This is a real long chapter. Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Okay, to sum up the active participants in defending the Earth (so far): Italy, Romano, Germany, Prussia, England, France, Russia, America, Canada, Spain, and . . . Well, you all know Greece, Japan and Turkey will get themselves mixed up in this eventually.  
**

**So YES! The Axis Powers shall be reunited at long last! Although, the Allies are still missing China. But you know him. He'll come around. =]  
**

**P.S. I don't know if the coordinates up there are right . . . Let's hope they are. I made up the seconds, but the minutes and degrees are the location of Moscow, Russia. I don't even know whether I wrote the coordinates correctly. I take Can. Geography in French, so things are written a bit differently.  
**


	12. XII: Ensemble

About halfway down to the first floor, the elevators shook to standstill.

"What? Someone getting on?" Gilbert said.

"I doubt it. The nations should be asleep now," said Ludwig.

Of all things, Gilbird flew through the threshold. He landed on Gilbert's outstretched finger, chirping obnoxiously. A note was tied to his leg.

"Dude," said Alfred. "That's just like one of Arthur's magical owl delivery thingies! Except smaller!"

"Brilliant deduction, stupid American," Lovino congratulated.

Alfred was so oblivious, he didn't even take offense.

As the doors slid shut again, the lift gave a jerk and Gilbird bristled uneasily. Gilbert untied the note from Gilbird's leg and scanned it over quickly. He grew paler and paler as he neared the end of it.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled at the paper.

"What?" Feliciano said. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Gilbert wordlessly handed the paper over to him.

_Dear Prussia,_

_I hope you're not off someplace invading someone else's vital regions. We need to back here, stat. If it's not you, then it's your brother, and we all know he has a life.  
_

_We have sent Gilbird to handle the message. I hope he has successfully managed to press the elevator button. If this hasn't reached you . . . Well, then Gilbird must've been sucked down a garbage chute.  
_

_Let's hope it's not the latter option.  
_

_COME HERE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL SMACK YOU WITH MY PAN!  
_

_Austria, Hungary  
_

"So? What's it say?" Alfred said.

Feliciano gave the note back to Gilbert. "No words can begin to describe your situation, my friend."

"Then you understand why I must leave."

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Alfred demanded. "And why does it sound like you're staggering off someplace to die?"

Gilbert sighed. "Looks I won't be coming to interrogate Greece with you after all. People are calling me. Also, I need to pay a visit to the church."

"What? Why the church?"

The Prussian made a pitiful sound. "I defied _Gott_."

"_Bruder_ used to be a Teutonic Knight," Ludwig explained. "Then he became a priest."

"I still don't get it . . ."

* * *

**MUCH, MUCH LATER**

Gilbert entered the church and knelt before the altar.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned . . ."

* * *

"You'll get it eventually."

Alfred shook his head. "Sorry, still don't."

"Gilbert is more committed than _fratello_," Feliciano said, shooting Lovino a disappointed glance. "Lovi doesn't even try to have the decency of keeping his mouth clean."

"Shut your face, _bastardo,_ or I'll do it for you."

"See what I mean?"

"Now I do," said Alfred.

"That's right," Gilbert said, puffing his chest out. "'Cause I can be awesome without swearing like Arthur."

* * *

Arthur sneezed. He looked at France.

"Someone talking about me?"

Francis shrugged.

It seemed everyone was sneezing these days. Maybe there was a flu going around.

* * *

The elevator dinged at the first floor. The nations shuffled out and Gilbert waved goodbye to them from the inside.

"See you later," he said. "If Austria and Hungary don't kill me, I'll join you. Just text me your locations."

"Yeah, yeah," said Lovino.

"Ve~! Bye, Gilbert!" Feliciano said.

"Good luck, _bruder_."

"Later, yo~"

The last thing that was seen of Gilbert was him stroking Gilbird's golden feathers. The nations milled about uselessly on the spot while they figured out which way was Heracles' room.

Eventually Ludwig had enough and decided to check the registry at the front. Seems he was always the one who had to do everything.

They found Heracles' name near the top of the entry and proceeded to search out his room number. They paused at door 03, directly to the right from where they started off in the first place.

"This it?" Alfred said.

"Has to be," said Lovino.

He stepped forward and knocked.

A minute later, they were answered by silence.

"How can nobody be home at this hour?" Ludwig wondered. "There's a lockdown; it's not like they have anywhere else to go."

"Heracles?" Feliciano tried. "Could you open the door? It's us—Feliciano, Lovino, Ludwig and Alfred. We promise not to annex you!"

A few more moments of silence. Then there was rustling, and the sound of footsteps.

A muffled voice came from the other side: "Italy-san?"

"Ve, _Japan_?" Feliciano pressed his hands against the door. "Kiku, please open the door. We wish to come in. Is . . . Is Heracles all right? Why isn't he answering the door?"

"Because he's . . . _Gomen._ He's rather preoccupied as of the moment. Give me a second; I will unbar the doorway."

The nations looked at each other.

_Unbar . . . the doorway?_

What reason could he possibly have to _bar_ the doorway at this hour?

The lock on the other side clicked and the door swung inwards. Inside the lights were off, except for a lamp on the study desk in the corner of the living room. Turkey, of all people, was lying snoring on the couch.

The bathroom lights were brightly lit.

Heracles' voice drifted easily from the room: "Kiku? Could you come here for a minute? I'm having trouble applying the bandages."

Kiku said his excuses and retreated to the bathroom. Feliciano, being the brave soul he was, decided to check out Heracles' condition himself. Obviously something had gone down that none of the other nations were notified about, if the barred doorway and windows were no indication.

The washroom was rather cramped, so the rest of the group ended up occupying themselves by poking fun at Sadik, who complained irritably after being woken up from his nap.

"Go away, bastards," he said, swatting them off of him. "Leave me alone."

"Hey bro, why are you in Heracles' room?" Alfred said. "I thought you hated him."

"Like you would understand," the Turk grumbled.

"It's obvious that Heracles is hurt," said Ludwig, crossing his arms. "Since you're here already, maybe you could tell us what happened."

"Go to hell. Let me sleep."

"Sadik."

"Jeez, why are _you_ lot doing here? It's none of your business. You have hardly a reason of being here as I do. None of you have anything to do with Heracles."

Lovino exhaled and produced a match from his pocket. He held it out, showed it to Sadik, and then attempted to strike up a flame.

Apparently, or maybe it was coincidence, Sadik was aware of Lovino's killer matchstick reputation. He sat up straighter, suddenly cooperative.

"Okay, here's the thing," he said.

Lovino slid the matchstick away.

"When I got here, I was just as surprised as you. Heracles had blood all over him, and each window"—he indicated to them respectively"—had been boarded up. Kiku told me that Heracles had been attacked by this weird monster, and he felt a disturbance in the atmosphere. When he went to check it out, he found Heracles fighting a losing battle. Kiku actually held a decent position, but eventually the monster ran away somewhere."

"So you know," Ludwig stated.

"Yes. I'm also aware of what information they managed to gather during their squabble."

"Besides that, is that all you know?"

"So far. Why? Are you keeping this from everyone else?"

"You guessed it," said Alfred. "We only told a handful of nations, and um, others who have managed to find out on their own. This is why we kept it a secret."

"I don't suppose you could fill me in on more details?"

"Since you know so much already, why not? I see no harm."

"We'll keep it bleak," Ludwig instructed.

Lovino ran a hand across the face. "I couldn't care less right now. If only I could have a cigarette . . . Too bad this hotel is a no-smoking zone."

"_Fratello_, that's not healthy," said Feliciano, emerging from the bathroom with Kiku and Heracles in tow.

"Says the one stuffing pasta in his face all day."

"You and your tomato obsession."

"It's not an obsession!"

"You have a 24 acre patch dedicated to just growing them."

"_Shhhh_!" Lovino hissed. "You're not supposed to tell anyone about that!"

Feliciano shrugged. "Oops."

"I will punch your neck."

"Since everyone's here, we should start with the full explanation," Ludwig said. "Then, Heracles, there is something we need to ask you."

Heracles sat in an armchair and blinked sleepily. A circle of linen was wrapped around his forehead, and a square bandage had been slapped onto his cheek. His arms were scratched and littered with bandages, but it showed that he cleaned up.

"Are you all right to continue?" Kiku asked.

"I'll be fine."

"Yeah, right," said Sadik.

"I didn't want your input. I never asked for you to be here."

"I care, Heracles."

"Mmm. Sure you do. Is this your way of mocking me?"

Sadik frowned. "I am doing no such thing."

Heracles scoffed lightly. "I find that hard to believe."

"Normally I would smack you around and publicly humiliate you, but you're injured. Don't get the wrong idea; I still don't like you. But no one can lay a hand on you but me. It's a silent contract I signed with myself. Only, I never predicted I'd be fighting with you against . . . Well, these _things_. I may even get killed, now that I'm a part of this."

"I fail to see the downside."

"You guys have a rotten relationship," pointed out Alfred, who usually can't read the atmosphere. "Are you sure you two can handle being in the same room together?"

"Let's get this over with," said Heracles. "If it weren't for this important matter you keep referring to, I would've been asleep by now, like a normal person at one in the morning."

"Right, then I'll start," said Lovino. "Heracles, the thing that attacked you also attacked Antonio."

"I guessed that much."

"Also, they are not creatures of the surface. They are from an era long ago. That's why we came to ask you about them. We think you might know a civilization that existed, since you dig up the earth all the time."

"Is that all? I believe I may be able to share some insight with you."

"But first," interjected Kiku, "you should know about what we've discovered."

He and Heracles shared a look, and they both nodded.

And so a detailed recount of their fight poured out of them, stopping only between intervals of trading stories. Kiku and Heracles alternated their respective POVs, while the rest of the nations listened on in avid silence.

"Each attacker is different," concluded Kiku. "They are specifically trained in the knowledge of their target's weaknesses. The creature that attacked Heracles hadn't chosen him by accident. He _was_ going to be attacked, regardless of whether he was alone."

Alfred peered out the window and noted how Antonio's attack wasn't an accident either. His weaknesses had been accessed relentlessly and when the time came . . . they struck.

Lovino murmured, "Antonio's always been . . . so peace-loving and cheerful. He doesn't resort to violence, he never gets angry."

"To beat these creatures, we need to put aside our ideals," Kiku informed them. "Antonio-san's not the person to act out on anger and follow through. But he may not have had a choice. It was life or death."

Lovino couldn't seem to decide what to make of that. This wasn't the Antonio he knew, and it frightened him. At the same time, he was just glad his ex-boss was all right.

"The creatures have trouble adjusting to different skill sets other than their target's," continued Heracles, rubbing at an aching shoulder. "It would be best if another nation gets attacked, they are with someone else. There's always strength in numbers."

"I don't think these creatures care of we're alone or with other people," said Lovino. "Strength in numbers, maybe, but not safety. If it wasn't for the amount of activity in and outside this building, a bunch of them would be swarming us right now."

"It did act rather shy, the way it ran away," said Kiku. "Perhaps it is a solitary creatures and cannot comprehend company?"

"God, who knows," Alfred said, lifting his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. "I think we'd think better tomorrow, when we've gotten some sleep."

There was a knock at the door.

"Spoke too soon," said Lovino.

Ludwig shifted uneasily. "What, more guests? Lovino, could you send them away?"

"Don't tell me what to do, Potato Freak." The Italian moved over to the door and answered it.

"We thought you'd be here. Step aside, lad."

England. France. Russia.

Lovino panicked and did the first thing that crossed his mind.

* * *

**I should stop giving Romano the last word/thought. Other people need a chance, too! I'm going to confiscate his tomato patch.  
**

**Funny thought: I wonder if Italy and Romano ever play MarioKart marathons against each other. Maybe they smoked a bit too much on that day and built the leaning tower of Pisa . . . I'm just dreaming here.  
**

**Thanks a lot for reading, reviewing and favouriting. Now I must go do the dishes. PEACE~  
**


	13. XIII: Isolation

**Alternate title: Russia**

**Because this chapter is mostly about him realizing his mistakes and knowing that he isn't alone. There will be an actual chapter titled _Russia_ though, so it won't confuse you. Every chapter titled with a country's name indicates that they're having some sort of interaction with the creatures. Everything else is just everything else.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its contents.  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

He slammed the door. "Sorry, room's full."

Ivan jammed his pipe in the way. "Let us in, _da_? We have information that could potentially decide the fate of the world."

Lovino pushed with his whole weight, fully intend on snapping the Russian's pipe. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb," Arthur snapped. "If you don't open this door right this instant, Lord so help me, I will blast this door to smithereens and see what you do about it."

"Or you could just let me have a go~ Ohonhonhonhonhonhonhon~!"

Lovino unleashed the most un-manliest scream in all of existence. He ran and hid behind Germany.

"HELP ME! IT'S FRANCE!"

Francis produced an equally girly scream. "AHHH! IT'S GERMANY!"

"Why do I feel the strangest sense of déjà vu?" Ludwig mumbled.

Alfred snickered. "Nice going, Lovi."

"Why don't you come here and try stopping this fucking rapist from groping you."

"Uh, no thanks."

"Oh, no. _I insist_."

Arthur kicked the door open and strode in, Francis and Ivan behind him like a duo of lackeys. He was holding an old, battered notebook in his hand.

"Real manly, Artie," said Alfred. "Keeping diaries now, are we?"

"That's more of the Frog's job—it's a _journal_, Alfred. There's a difference."

"_Suure_ there is." Troll face.

Arthur shook his head. "I will never understand how you Americans think."

"I don't know whether to welcome you or curse your existence," Ludwig said, finding it hard to keep track of all the nations who've been involved thus far. "I suppose you've been the one spying on us with that spell? Told Francis and Ivan, too?"

"We heard you discussing about approaching Russia after Greece, so we thought we'd take the high road first and jump ahead. All our paths up until now have led us here, together, in this very room, along with Turkey, Greece and Japan."

"_Mais,_ where is _Mathieu_?" Francis said, searching around. "He's not with you?"

"He's fine," said Alfred. "I gave him my gun."

"I don't feel reassured."

"God knows Matthew's more trustworthy with a gun than you," Arthur muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alfred said. "It's not like Mattie's ever handled a gun before. I mean, look at him. He's so scrawny."

"He's watching over Antonio upstairs," Lovino told Francis, since nobody else wanted to answer the man. "They should be safe up there."

Ivan stepped forward and offered Arthur's notebook to them. "We think there is something you should all be aware of." He was smiling; add that to the way he said it and you've got one hundred percent _creepy psychopath_.

Ludwig snatched the notebook out of his hand, cringing backwards to avoid close proximity with the highly insane Russian.

"Turn to the highlighted page," Ivan indicated.

The Germany flipped through the notebook, landing on the few last pages. Ludwig frowned, reading it over twice to make sure he wasn't just seeing things.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I have no reason to lie," Ivan said.

"You could've just copied this and try to trick us."

"What good does that do?" Arthur butted in. "I summoned this notebook straight out of Ivan's vaults in Moscow. This is the legitimate notebook that sent you all on your wild goose chase. And yes, what you are reading is the truth."

"Let me see." Alfred pushed Ludwig aside and grabbed the journal. The American ran his eyes down the page, wearing the exact same expression Ludwig did. "No way. All this time . . ."

"What is this?" Lovino demanded. "Ivan, why are you—?"

"Don't say it, _da_? There is a reason why I chose to keep it a secret."

"But this—this journal is _yours_!"

Ivan sighed. "Yes, unfortunately."

"It was his leader that gave the order to conceal the truth away all those fifty years ago," said Arthur. "And now, fifty-five years later, it's finally been uncovered—and by a bunch of hackers, no less."

Lovino tugged uncomfortably on his collar. "Don't kill me. Please."

"Relax, tomato man. Yes, it was I who went with those scientists to unveil the ruins in the north. Yes, I was the last one out of all them who managed to stay alive, simply because I am a nation. And yes, I did watch all of them disappear in front of my eyes, one-by-one, chased to their doom by the Frost Men."

"And all that time, you've been grabbing bits-and-bits of their profile to one day use against them," Arthur concluded.

"What was I supposed to do?" Ivan hissed, his cheerful voice dropping to a menacing baritone. "I couldn't scratch them, I couldn't kill them. Do you know how it felt like to watch your comrades die, while you couldn't lift a single finger to save them?! They just kept being taken, and I was—I was alone again, like I've always been."

"_Ve~_ I know that feeling," said Feliciano.

"So let me get this straight," said Alfred. "You're . . . the scientist? The last one?"

"Yes, I am the 'scientist' that wrote the journal. He was never eaten or destroyed. My boss forced me to lie about what happened, because he feared it would spread unwanted terror. My job was to gather information about these creatures. And they knew. My comrades knew and they still came with me."

"I'm . . ." Ludwig was never good at expressing his feelings, but he could at least console the huge nation. "I'm sorry, Ivan."

"It doesn't matter. That was back then. This is now. All these years, even then, I've been researching about the Frost Men so I can one day take my revenge on them for killing my people."

"That excavation," said Francis. "It wasn't really the research of the ruins you were after, right? You and your team had gone there to find the Frost Men."

"We never knew it would tear us apart," said Ivan. "I was stuck in the mountains for a whole two months, being hunted down by a nightmare." He tugged at his scarf. "The scar on my neck is proof of that."

"All this time," Alfred summed up, his eyes downcast, "you knew."

"Yes. I knew. I knew what attacked Antonio, I knew where you all had gone. I knew someone would come to me eventually, demanding the truth. I knew that Heracles had been targeted, and I knew that eventually we'd all be caught in this."

"Why didn't you tell or come to any of us?" Ludwig said.

"Because." Ivan smiled. "It was fun watching you all running around hysterically. It amused me."

"Either one of us could've died! You should have just come out with it!"

"_Da_. But I also knew that neither of you would die that easily."

"What I don't get," said Kiku, "is why you took up the mission in the first place, Ivan. You knew it was dangerous."

"Ah. That, is another story for another time. I think Heracles should take it away. He knows much more than I do."

"That's not true," said Heracles. "The only thing I found reminiscent of that was an old underground labyrinth belonging to my mother. It was a Roman underground siege tunnel gone wrong, abandoned centuries ago. I didn't go down there to check it out, but I suspect the Romans moved out of there when they realized it had been contaminated."

"By what?" Feliciano said, shaking in his shoes.

"I heard about this," said Lovino. "Grandpa told us about that. He said he launched a campaign to overtake Greece, but then he saw . . . something moving around down there. Soon the diggers started to disappear and he called a withdrawal immediately. Back then I really didn't get what he was saying, but I think now I do."

"You were probably too busy chasing girls," Ludwig chastised.

"Shut up, Potato Bastard."

"As soon as I found it, I sealed it off," said Heracles. "Better safe than sorry."

"You did the right thing," said Arthur.

"I'd rather not have my mistake repeated twice," said Ivan. He held his hand out. "Now, if you're all done with that, I'll be taking my diary back."

"Ah HA!" said Alfred. "So it is a diary!"

"But it is _my_ diary."

"Oh yeah." Alfred nodded feverishly. "I mean—yes. It's a diary, and it's _very_ manly."

Ivan didn't appear to be in the slaughtering mood, which was good for Alfred. "I am glad you think so, comrade."

"There's still something you haven't told them," said Arthur. "It's about where the Frost Men—"

"That part's not important."

"But I think it—"

"It's my diary, it's my country. I know far more than you, Arthur. If I think it's unnecessary to share, then it is."

Arthur glared at him. "Fine. But when another country gets attacked, it's on your conscience."

"That won't be happening. I'm making sure it never happens again."

No one could argue with the Russian on that.

Alfred checked his watch. "Dudes. It's, like, three hours before sunrise. We should get some sleep. The next meeting starts at 7:30."

Heracles was snoring already. Sadik plopped down on the couch and returned back to his much-needed nap.

"Ludwig?" said Kiku. "We should go as well."

"I thought you would stay with Heracles."

Kiku looked back on his friend. "I want to. But . . . I think he's off in better hands."

His eyes travelled to Sadik, who was sprawled all over his sleeping space with limbs hanging off the edges. Compared to Heracles, his snoring sounded like a foghorn.

"All right," said Ludwig. "Let's go."

The two nations said their goodbyes, leaving Ivan, Arthur, Francis, the Italy brothers, and Alfred.

"You should hide that," Arthur suggested, pointing to Ivan's diary. "Don't want any others freaking out and starting a conspiracy."

Ivan tucked his diary safely into his huge overcoat. "_Da._ Thank you, comrade."

Arthur pursed his lips, but nodded.

"There's something I've been wanting to know," said Francis. "How did you manage to stay sane running away from those creatures for two whole months in the freezing snow?"

"Ah." Ivan nodded, like he expected this sort of question. "That, my friend, is because I've never been sane."

When no one said anything, Ivan took that as his cue to leave. The nations watched him head out the door, thinking that he'd be fine on his own. He was a large country after all, and powerful. He could take care of himself.

It seemed, after Ivan had revealed the truth, he'd been much more lighthearted and comfortable, like a huge weight had been taken off his back.

He would be just fine. He wasn't alone like he thought he was. There were those who would help if he asked for it.

"We should go too," said Feliciano. "Come on, _fratello,_ Alfred."

"Hold on, we're coming with you," said Francis.

"Why?" said Lovino. "It's not like we need chaperones to use an elevator."

"It's 'cause they're worried," said Alfred, smirking widely. "Right, Artie?"

"Shut it, wanker. The only reason why I'm still here is because I want to check on Antonio's condition myself. I want to see how he is."

"Relax. Mattie's taking care of him."

"Nevertheless."

"It'll be fine," said Feliciano, hoping to make peace between the two nations. "It'll only be a short visit, right? They can come with us."

Lovino shrugged and started towards the door. "Make sure Francey-pants stays far away from me."

Feliciano was the last one out, and he made sure Greece's door was shut before he moved towards the larger group. The elevator arrived just as he got there.

"Floor . . . 15, was it?" said Arthur.

"_Si_."

Alfred had been feeling particularly jittery the ride up. The closer and closer he got the fifteenth floor, he started to feel more anxious and motion-sick. Then about halfway through, he collapsed because a huge headache knocked him in the side of the head.

"Alfred!" Arthur knelt down next to him. "Are you all right, lad?"

The American clenched his teeth. "Nn . . . ngh," he replied. "I don't . . . _Something's wrong._"

"What?"

"Something's wrong." Alfred got to his feet shakily, using the side-railing as a handheld. "I can feel it. It's like a separate presence in my mind, sharing all their senses with me. Mat . . . Mattie's hurt."

"Hold on a second. How can you tell if he's hurt?"

"I just can, all right?" Alfred glared at the sign indicating the current floor. "Hurry up, elevator. Move faster!"

"Maybe he just stubbed his toe or something," suggested Lovino. "Aren't you jumping to conclusions here?"

"No," said Francis. "No, I can feel it too. Don't tell me you can't feel it, Arthur. He's _your_ Commonwealth."

Arthur started shaking his head. "I—"

The elevator doors opened. Alfred practically flew out of there, pausing near the entrance to stare down the corridor.

"What is it?" said Feliciano.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

"Smoke."

"Smoke?" said Lovino, joining them. "Someone start a barbecue?"

"No. It's _fire_ smoke. I would know; the day when Matthew burned down my home, it smelled the same."

"But why would there be—?"

A large ringing bang reverberated through the hallways. Thankfully, the Italy twins' and North American twin' rooms were the only ones on this floor, otherwise everyone would have woken up from the noise.

It was the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

**WTF. Romano has the last word AGAIN! WHY, WHY, WHY. I even promised I wouldn't make him say the last word, but it always seems he gets it. I don't even try, and it happens. Next time I'm going to consciously write this.**

**Although truthfully I don't mind him getting every last word there is.  
**

**Have any of you people also noticed how Alfred keeps saying they should get some sleep, but none of them do? And now it seems they still won't get the sleep. Sigh.  
**


	14. XIV: Targeted

**Romano reveals his matchstick reputation. Frankly it doesn't surprise me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

"MATTHEW!"

Alfred raced down the corridor, halting abruptly at the Italians' suite. He stared down at the bullet holes lining the wood of the door and the walls surrounding it.

The bullets had emerged from the other side of the door and embedded themselves into the opposite wall.

Arthur halted between a bullet hole and its bullet and studied their trajectory carefully.

"It's been fired straight," said the Englishman. "Whatever he was firing at is around our height. By the looks of it, they're fairly recent. We still have time."

Alfred stepped right up to the door and started banging on it.

"MATTIE!" he yelled in. "MATTHEW, OPEN THE DOOR! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, OPEN THE DOOR!"

1.

2.

3.

4 . . .

Ten seconds later and the door still hadn't been answered. Alfred was far from worried. He was beginning to grow desperate.

He shook the knob, twisting hard to try and break the lock. But these doors were built well—well enough to stand against the strength of a superpower like him. He even tried standing back and then running up to knock it down, but it was as if . . .

"It's been barred," Lovino declared.

"Are you sure?" Feliciano asked. "Alfred, you're tired. Stand back and leave it to us—"

"NO!" Alfred nearly shouted. "No. We need to get through right now. Mattie's not . . . His mind doesn't feel right. I can't explain it, but it doesn't feel like _he's there_."

"_Angleterre_," said Francis. "I think now's a good time to blast this door to smithereens."

"Don't have to tell me twice," said England. "Right. Stand back. This could get ugly."

Lovino elbowed him aside. "Don't bother. I'll handle this."

"What? What can _you_ possibly do? You saw Alfred—even _he_ couldn't break the door down."

"I'm not going to break the door down."

"Then _what_ . . ." Arthur started to demand, but trailed off halfway.

Lovino slid out a matchstick, and smirked back at him. "Do any of you want to see exactly _why_ I have such a matchstick reputation?"

"You can't be serious."

"Frankly, your spellcasting takes too long. _This_, however, will not take a minute at all."

Feliciano, being the smart cookie he was, took one huge step back and bade the others to do the same.

"I don't see how you're going to take the door down," said Arthur. "It's not like we're going to wait an eternity for you to burn the wood away . . ."

"Oh," Lovino laughed in amusement. "I'm not going to _burn_ it away. This process is much faster."

Without further ado, Lovino jammed the matchstick into the lock backwards, so the match-head faced him. Then he coated the top with a bluish gel, before blowing on it to harden the solution.

Next he swiped the matchbox across the head, lighting the match. However the fire produced wasn't yellow and orange, but bright purple.

"It has a five second mark," said Lovino, already backtracking down the hall. "After that—_BOOM_. I advise you to get far, _far_ away."

The nations scattered.

3 . . .

4 . . .

_5._

The match-bomb went off. The explosion made was ten times that of the gunshot earlier. The entire section of that hall—the door, the walls around it, and the opposite wall had all been scorched to the point of zero recognition. There was a huge gaping hole where the lock used to be. One could easily see to the other side.

The countries reassembled in front of the wasted door.

"_Ohh_," said Arthur. "I see why everyone's so scared of your match. It's certainly lethal. Quite a reputation you've got there, lad."

Lovino grinned boyishly. "_Grazie._ Nitroglycerin at its best."

"Let's take down the fort," said America.

Alfred wasted not another second. He kicked down the door FBI-style, the force of it snapping the support beams behind it. Lovino's bomb had also weakened the pane around the door, so Alfred ended busting the door straight off its hinges.

"Matthew!" Alfred called into the dark room. "Matthew, if you can hear me, yell 'Maple!'"

Silence.

"Dammit," said Arthur. "Why is it so dark in here?"

Francis repeatedly clicked the light switch. "The power seems to be off in this room."

"I feel it," Feliciano said, sweeping his eyes through the interior. He took a step back. "It's that presence again."

"Don't tell me," said Lovino slowly. "Don't tell me Matthew's been attacked."

"It's the same presence I felt at Antonio's. I don't want to face the truth as much as you do, but . . . I'm afraid one of the Frost Men has been here."

"No way," Alfred whispered. "No. Not to him. He should be okay, right? I gave him my gun!"

"Alfred." Arthur laid a comforting hand on his former charge's shoulder. "Alfred, it'll be fine. We'll split up and find him. All right? We'll find him."

Alfred nodded numbly. "Y-yeah. Good idea. Let's look around."

"I'll take the bedroom," said Francis.

"I've got the bathroom," said Arthur, already heading in.

"We've got the living room," said Lovino. "Come on, Feli."

_I guess I have the kitchen_, Alfred thought, swallowing.

It was so hard to see because none of the lights were working. It seemed the electricity to this suite had been cut off by something . . . Because of this, the room was cast in an eerie shadow, with the only lights coming from the street posts outside.

Alfred could still smell the smoke. It was most concentrated in the living room. A small fire was even still going.

"Ugh." Lovino batted some smoke away. "This couch has been burnt in half. What the hell happened here?"

"The window is broken," said Feliciano. "Looks like a huge body crashed through here and smashed its way in."

"Could be the entry point of the Frost Man."

"Let's keep looking."

Alfred retreated to the kitchens, leaving the Italian brothers to their own devices. However, he didn't expect the kitchen to be boarded up so much more painstakingly strenuous than the front entrance.

"Matthew," he spoke in a gentle voice. "I know you're in there. I can feel you in there. Please, it's all right now. Open the door. Nothing will hurt you, I promise."

There was a high, grating noise, the sound of a knife being sharpened almost.

_Well, of course. Where else are you going to go if you're being attacked? A place with free weapons._

"Mattie, please," he begged. "It's me, Alfred. Your brother. You know who I am, right? I'm not going to hurt you."

"_Don't come any closer._"

Alfred's heart leaped in his throat. "Matthew? It's definitely you, right? Let me in."

"Oi, Alien Bastard, what's going on?" said Lovino, heading over with his brother. "You found him?"

"You're too loud, _fratello_ . . ."

Alfred silenced them with a finger to the lips. _Let the Hero handle this__,_ he mouthed.

Lovino shot him an odd look, but let him continue.

"It's gone," Alfred spoke to Matthew again. "Whatever was chasing you, it's gone. Nothing is in here."

"_Leave._"

"Matth—!"

_BANG._ The bullet missed him by an inch above the shoulder. It shattered the lamp behind him.

"_I won't miss another time. __I'll say it again. LEAVE._"

"What the fuck's wrong with him?" Lovino demanded, hiding behind a chair. "He could've killed us!"

Alfred stared straight ahead, his eyes abnormally sharp. "No, wait. Doesn't he sound rather . . . _of__f_?"

"Okay, what the fuck are _you_ going on about now?"

"Mattie's voice sounds dead."

"Yeah, sure. So what?"

Another shot went off, this time closer to home than the previous attempt. The bullet grazed Alfred right across the face, and yet he didn't even flinch.

"The baron lies to the west," he said.

Lovino was beginning to think everyone had gone crazy.

But then the door was being unbarred on the other side. Apparently Alfred's weird poetic line convinced Matthew to see reason.

. . . Or not.

Alfred found the barrel of a gun being shoved in his face.

"_Don't come any closer,_" Matthew said, his eyes emptied of all compassion. "_Or I'll blow your head off._"

"I knew it," said Alfred, calm as midnight. "I knew that passcode would get you to open the door. Mattie, can't you see? It's me, Alfred."

The name seemed to have a desired effect. Matthew blinked once and staggered. "Al . . . fred . . ." His gun hand trembled. He frowned dazedly. "What am I . . . ? I don't even know what I'm doing . . ."

"Matthew, put the gun down," said Arthur, joining them along with Francis. "You're safe now. Nothing can harm you."

"Alfred?" Matthew stared up at his brother. "Alfred, why are you here?"

"That's right," said Alfred. "It's me. Now put the gun down, Mattie."

Matthew's gaze wavered for a second, travelling to the firearm in his hand. He looked as if he just realized he even had it. Then recognition flitted across his face. He collapsed against his brother, exhaling in untold relief. The gun slid from his grip and clanged onto the floor noisily.

"I didn't think you would ever come back," he said, his body feeling like lead.

"I'm here now, and everything's going to be okay."

"Matthew, can you tell me what happened here?" Arthur said.

The shaken Canadian pointed into the kitchen. It was at that point Alfred noticed that Matthew's entire hand and forearm was bleeding. The blood dripped onto the pristine tiles of the kitchen.

"Get him," Matthew said. "Antonio's awake, but he can't move without help."

"He's awake?!" Lovino said.

He charged inside before anyone could say otherwise.

"_Mathieu,_" said Francis kindly, settling into his fatherly mode. "What happened here?"

"You're hurt," Arthur pointed out.

"This?" Matthew held up his arm, feeling a bit light-headed. "Yes. There's . . . only one weakness that I know the creature has. I couldn't shoot it because it moved so fast, so I had to let it get me. It was when I had my arm down its throat did the gun become effective."

"So that's why we found so many stray shots," said Alfred.

Matthew went over to the wall and sat down against it. "I had to," he mumbled. "It was the only way to bring Antonio into the kitchen."

Meanwhile, Lovino had discovered Antonio seated against the kitchen cabinet. The Spaniard was awake, but he was by no means aware of his surroundings. When he saw Lovino, he gave no indication that he recognized his former henchman.

"You're okay," said Lovino with a delicacy uncharacteristic of him. "Antonio, can you hear me?"

Antonio nodded slightly. He groaned and pressed a hand to his chest. "Is it finally over?"

"Yeah. It's over."

"Take me outside to the group," he said. "I need to speak with them."

Lovino slung one of Antonio's arm around his neck and helped him shuffle to the exit. They found Arthur dressing Matthew's wound while Francis and Alfred stood by like a pack of watchdogs.

"I've patched up the skin using magic, but the torn tissue inside are nowhere close to being mended," Arthur said. He finished wrapping the bandages around Matthew's arm and knotted it tight. "The pressure should help. You should avoid doing unnecessary things from now on."

"Yes. Thank you."

Arthur sighed. "You needn't be so formal, really. You were—how should I say—slightly . . . _off_ earlier. Are you sure you're all right, lad?"

"I wasn't before," said Matthew. "But Alfred's code broke through."

"Yeah, what was that anyway?" said Feliciano.

"It was . . . our secret password that we used during the World Wars. Neither of us could forget the number of times it saved us both."

Alfred wasn't listening. He was busy mulling over the image of Matthew's haunted, empty eyes as he trained the gun on him. He hadn't seen Matthew like that since his coming out of the first World War.

Even then, it was only for a few weeks. These few weeks Matthew had spent his time isolated from the rest of the world, reluctant to come out of his shell. He'd been more quiet and withdrawn and ever, and back then Alfred feared he lost his closest brother.

Eventually the horrors of war began to heal on his heart, and Matthew returned to the way he was. World War 2, however, was no different, unfortunately.

He really didn't need to see those things, Alfred decided.

"It was about 30 minutes after you all left," said Matthew. "I woke up hearing a strange noise, and I went to check it out. When I found out that none of the lights were working, I knew someone cut the power to this room. I didn't . . . expect it to be what it was."

"What did you do?" asked Feliciano.

"I didn't have a choice to leave Antonio by himself. I could've left him to draw the intruder away, but I decided against it because he was hurt. In the darkness, you never know what could happen.

"The journey to the kitchens was difficult. _No . . . _It was more than that. It was terrifying. I kept seeing these strange movements in the shadows, of a giant creature. The shadows seemed to be in ten places at once, and I still couldn't see a thing. The first few gunshots into thin air was what woke Antonio." Matthew placed his head in his hands. "If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't be alive right now."

"I told him what I knew," continued Antonio, speaking as if every word pained him. "Its weakness . . . How I defeated it back then . . ."

The Canadian was shaking slightly from the memory. "Antonio—he told me the only way to put us on firm ground with the creature was to start a fire. They are sensitive to high pitches of sound, so I lit the couch on fire to trigger the fire alarm. When I turned around—it was there. I can't . . . get that image out of my head . . . I really thought I was going to die."

"_Mathieu, mon fils_. Stay with us. What happened next?"

"The . . . The fire alarm started up and the creature collapsed, as if it was in pain. I immediately grabbed Antonio and ran into the kitchens. I tried, I did, but I couldn't even injure it."

"So then you let yourself get caught in order to defeat it," finished Lovino.

Matthew pointed to a pile of rubble in the middle of the room. "That's all that's left of it. It's actually all they leave behind once they're dead. It's the reason why we couldn't find a body at Antonio's place."

"This time was different, though," said Antonio, his head lulling to the side. Already he was beginning to fall unconscious. "The creature spoke . . . to us . . . It said . . . Matthew and I . . ."

"It spoke?" Francis said. "Antonio, could you explain?"

Antonio's head dipped onto his chest. Lovino helped lay the Spaniard down into a more comfortable position.

Arthur huffed and took a deep breath. "That was the most stupidest thing you could have done, Matthew," he said. "And I thought you were better than your brother. Honestly, what were you thinking, charging out there by yourself without any backup? You could have _at least_ called us. We would have been here in a snap."

Matthew tried smiling, but the sight was pitiful. "_Désolé. Je_ . . ." He coughed. "I'm sorry. I had to."

Arthur leaned over and whispered something into Francis' ear. Then the two spoke to Alfred in hushed tones. Alfred seemed more out of it than usual.

"What is it?" Matthew asked.

Arthur sighed. "Aside from that little mishap, I'm glad you're in one piece. You say the creature spoke to you?"

Matthew covered his eyes with his uninjured hand, trying to remember what it is the creature said to him. He had been subconsciously blocking the memories in order to retain his sanity. "Not technically. It more or less projected its thoughts. That's the event that drove me to enter my PTSD. Otherwise I couldn't cope with what it said."

"What _did_ it say?"

Matthew was only halfway mumbling things, and then he began to lapse into French. Apparently he was more distressed than he'd let on.

"That's enough," said Alfred, finally broken out of his vow of silence. "Stop pressuring him. It doesn't matter if these Frost Men can speak or not. What it said doesn't matter." His eyes were apologetic as he stared down at his brother. "I'm so sorry, Mattie. I should've stayed here with you."

The nations were caught between acting surprised and embarrassed. They settled for hanging their heads in shame. It was rare to see America so considerate.

Matthew chuckled softly. "You sound strange, Al. Whether you stayed here or not wouldn't make a difference. You'd just be a hindrance."

"That's cruel, bro."

"It's the truth." Matthew cast his eyes to the ground. "If you saw everything that I saw tonight, you wouldn't be here to bring me out of the dark. I'm grateful, Alfred."

"Hey . . . don't get like that. It's over, right? Everything's okay now."

"No. You're wrong."

"What?" Alfred's smile faltered. "What do you mean?"

"What it said," began Matthew. "The only reason it was here was for revenge. Antonio killed its brethren, and so, after not being successful in targeting another nation, it came here to finish the job its kin failed to accomplish. Antonio became a target the minute he pierced his sword through the creature."

"And now," said Arthur, "you're being targeted."

Matthew nodded.

"The one that Kiku and Heracles failed to kill," Francis recalled. "It must have escaped up here."

"It's different for them. They should be safer, until another creature gets deployed to kill them. For now, it seems, Antonio and I have a huge bounty on our heads."

Lovino stood. "Then this is only the beginning. It's not over yet."

"No," murmured Arthur. "It certainly isn't."

* * *

**It's England who has the last word today, muahahahaha! Although Romano gets close second. I actually was going to end the chapter with Romano's line, but then I remembered that I was consciously going to make sure it doesn't happen. Then I added England's line!  
**

**Yay, Canada's okay! He's a bit traumatized, but who isn't with this whole Apocalypse sort of thing happening? I'm just glad his brother's there to help him out of it. Useful America, ftw.  
**

**PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder  
**


	15. XV: Decision

Gilbert's "interrogation" wasn't going so well.

In a matter of moments, his interrogation had turned around. Now he was tied to a chair with Hungary threatening to cut off his vital regions, and Austria playing unfitting music in the background.

"Tell us or else," said Elizabeta Héderváry, smacking her pan against her palm.

"I can't!" Gilbert screamed back at her, struggling against his bindings. "There's a reason why I can't tell you! You can't just trick me to come here and then tie me up to blackmail me!"

"Oh no?" Elizabeta narrowed her eyes. "You want to test me? Because there's a very good chance you're going to say goodbye to your vital regions in the next ten seconds."

"Must you be so brutish?" questioned Roderich Edelstein. "I'm sure there are other methods to get him to talk."

"I doubt it. Gilly here is a tough customer."

"You bet I am!" Gilbert said, not helping his situation at all.

Roderich sighed. It was so hard to retain proper class these days. "Gilbert, you have ten seconds. If you want to live, you have to tell us."

"Then just get on with it. I shall be awesome till the end."

Elizabeta grimaced. She dropped her pan. "Gosh, you're not even worth killing."

"Do you want a cream tart?" Roderich said, offering the Prussian a yellowish pastry. "I made it myself."

_What the . . . ?_ Gilbert thought, resisting the urge to finish the sentence. _First they tie me up and now they're offering me dessert?_

"Enlighten me on exactly how I can eat WITH MY HANDS TIED UP!" Gilbert said. "Let go of me! I need to get back to the others!"

"Oh?" Elizabeta leaned down towards him. "And who are these _others_? The people you're conspiring with? Are they in on the secret too?"

"There's no secret! We're not conspiring about anything!"

"So there are others involved. Maybe we should interrogate them, hm, Roderich?"

Austria shrugged, helping himself to another cream tart.

"Hold on," said Gilbert. "I never said—"

"You certainly didn't deny it," Elizabeta cut him off. "Gilly, you're in a load of trouble here. If we told your brother . . ."

Gilbert visibly tensed.

Elizabeta smirked. "I see. So he's one of the ones in on this. Who else is there? Perhaps the Italians? What about that Alfred who loves to dig his nose into other people's business?"

"You all need to calm down a little and have a cream tart," said Roderich.

"ENOUGH WITH YOUR CREAM TARTS!" Gilbert and Elizabeta snapped in unison.

"I'll tell you what you want to know," Gilbert said. "But first, get me my PDA."

"Why? What for?"

"So I can go on Facebook and update my status," the Prussian deadpanned. "No, what do you think I'm going to use it for? I'm going to message the others."

"We're not stupid, Gilbert. As if we'll allow you to contact your accomplices."

"Yeah, but I promised them I would."

Elizabeta huffed. "Fine." She reached into Gilbert's back pocket and drew out his PDA. "Take it."

Gilbert gave her the most unamused expression in all of creation.

"It seems you people are still misunderstanding something," he said. "I cannot take _anything_, because my hands are _tied_! Is that so hard to comprehend?!"

Elizabeta rolled her eyes, but did undo the knots around Gilbert's hands. He snatched the PDA away from her and even managed to nick a cream tart away, just for the sake of showing them up.

"What are you going to send them?" the Hungarian asked.

Gilbert typed away at his PDA. It said:

**To: Lovino V.**

**Subject: Help me, but don't misunderstand; I'm still awesome  
**

**Hey, just a heads-up, I'm in the middle of an interrogation. I'm telling them everything. Hope you understand.  
**

Now that he thought about it, if Elizabeta and Roderich weren't going to kill him because he was going to tell them everything, then the others would certainly not hesitate to finish the job because he told them everything.

You just cannot win being awesome, can you?

**Also, if you're reading this and thinking that you're so gonna kill me, just remember the number of people that now know because you decided to cry over Antonio at the meeting. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best choice of words. Just don't kill me. **

**-Gilbert B.  
**

"Done?" Elizabeta said.

"Yep." Gilbert clicked Send. "Now all we have to do is wait and get the confirmation."

"It'd be better if we know now," said Roderich, finally rid of his cream tarts.

After all this time, Gilbert still couldn't understand how the Austrian managed to get his Yamaha grand piano inside his hotel suite when the door was only a third the size of the piano.

"What do you think?" Roderich asked. "Chopin or Mozart?"

"Eh, give me Pachelbel."

"You're so bland."

But Roderich began playing the piano anyway.

"Have they answered yet?" Elizabeta said.

"It's only been 30 seconds—chill out."

"If I find that you're lying, Gilbert, I'll—"

"Jesus, woman. Relax. I want you guys to find out. In fact, I proposed we tell you, but the others weren't so much inclined because they feared that it might cause panic."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Well, you're going to find out. I'm just warning you now; it's not pretty. While I've been stuck here with you, the others have been chatting with Greece, learning more by the second. The truth doesn't end at the truth, but starts at the beginning. And it won't simply end there either. Not until the nightmares over."

"I really think you've spent far too much time with Greece."

"You'll know when I tell you."

"I don't understand why you can't tell me now."

"Haven't we gone through this already?"

* * *

**Meanwhile . . .**

Lovino's pager beeped.

"The hell's that?" said Alfred.

"My PDA. Hold on, I think it's Gilbert."

The Italian took out his PDA and studied the screen. It didn't appear to be good news. Lovino's face looked like he wanted to snap the electronic device in half.

"That _idiota_," he snarled.

"What's going on?" said Feliciano.

"Gilbert's been compromised. He's being held in an interrogation by Austria and Hungary."

"Is that why he didn't come here with you?" said Matthew.

"What else does it say?" asked Arthur.

Lovino slid the PDA back into his pocket. "The rest of that is, uh, _confidential_."

"Confidential?"

"As in private, Pirate Bastard."

"Honestly, do I have to say this to _everyone_? I wasn't a _pirate_; I was a _privateer_."

"Like we care, _Angleterre_."

"Fuck you, Frog."

"Maybe we should just let him tell them," suggested Feliciano. "It's the best course of action right now. None of us are safe."

Lovino sighed. "Fine. I think he was in the middle of telling them anyway. Damn useless bastard."

He typed back a reply:

**To: Gilbert B.**

**Subject: RE: ****Help me, but don't misunderstand; I'm still awesome**  


**I hate you _sooooo_ much, _bastardo_. You're lucky you weren't here to see me detonate that door to oblivion with my match. That way you wouldn't have to worry about how you're going to die.  
**

**Mention any word of what happened again, and I'll sic my mafia on you.  
**

**P.S. Yes, you've got confirmation. Tell them. And don't leave out any details. I've attached a file to this message informing you about what we've learned recently. Do not make waste of it.  
**

He pressed Send and tucked his pager away.

"Now what?" Alfred said.

"Now, we wait," said Arthur. "What else are we going to do?"

"Why don't we finally stop hiding from everyone," Matthew suggested quietly. "We need to tell them the truth, eh."

"I agree," said Feliciano. "Arthur, can you use your magic to broadcast a voice recording to every single nation in this building?"

Arthur raised his large eyebrows. "Well, I can try. But what are we going to say?"

"How about a warning first?" Francis said. "That way, they won't freak out over the truth or disbelieve us?"

"I've got an idea. How about we give them a warning so they won't freak out and disbelieve us?"

Francis glared daggers at Arthur. "I hate you _so_ much."

"Likewise, git. Likewise."

"Man, can someone just make some lights, please?" Alfred said. Evidently he was afraid that a ghost might pop up. "I don't like being in the dark for too long."

"You Americans have been exposed to too much paranormal influence, honestly," said Arthur. "Fine. Stand back; I'll conjure some lights."

"_Non,_ let _moi_ do the work," said Francis. He stepped forward and snapped his fingers. Immediately floating balls of light flashed into existence, showering the room in a warm glow. "There. How is it, _Amérique_?"

"Creepier than before."

"_Quoi?_"

"The glow is creepy. Look." Alfred dragged a floating ball under his chin. "_OooOOoooohhhh_ . . . I'm a ghost! OOOOoooOOooooohhhHhhhhH! Ah, fuck, just scared myself."

"Oh, for the love of_—_" Arthur muttered.

"Al, stop fooling around," Matthew said. "Put the light back."

Alfred pouted, but did as he was told. He batted the ball of light away and it floated off towards the others. He stood back for a second to appreciate the show.

"Magic is so cool," he said. "Wish I could do it."

"Then what's with all those times you laugh at me for seeing and using magic?" Arthur demanded.

"'Cause it's fun."

"_Non_, it's just because Alfred appreciates _my_ magic more."

"Wankers."

After a few more minutes of pointless banter and killing time, Lovino's pager beeped again. It was a reply from Gilbert.

**To: Lovino V.**

******Subject: RE: ****Help me, but don't misunderstand; I'm still awesome**

**********Okay, I'm coming down right now with Roderich and Elizabeta. They know everything, by the way. Just send me your** **location.**

"They're coming," Lovino informed everyone.

**To: Gilbert B.**

******Subject: RE: ****Help me, but don't misunderstand; I'm still awesome**

**********We're in our room on floor 15. The doors are open, but be careful, there is rubble in the way. Don't freak out; there's been another attack, but everyone's** **fine.**

"They'll be here in a minute or so," he told them. "Until then, I suppose Feli and I should do an inventory sweep of this place. I hope you didn't burn my laptop. It cost a lot, you know."

"I said I was sorry," Matthew said.

"Yeah, yeah. You can hardly blame anyone these days."

"My pasta ingredients are still okay!" Feliciano's voice came from the kitchen. "Uh, Matthew, what have you done with the knives?"

The Canadian's face clearly said it all: _Oh, f—_

"Sorry. They're under the cupboards."

There came a gasp. "They look like spears!"

"Why spears?" Arthur asked, slightly amused.

"Because they're good for medium-ranged attacks and they're useful for pinpointing the creatures' weakness exactly. Now that I think about it, I don't know what I was doing. It all felt sort of . . . automatic."

"Instinctual."

"Yes."

"That proves we're as human as anyone. The ability to survive is one of our most primal instincts."

"Blah, blah, blah, I don't know what you guys are talking about," said Alfred. "Hey, Feli, could you make me some lasagna?"

"Coming right up!"

"Big Brother France shall help you~!"

Francis dashed into the kitchen, dragging along a few of his floating lights.

After a while, when the smell of tomato sauce wafted clearly out of the kitchens, Gilbert, Roderich and Elizabeta decided to make themselves known.

"What's up, losers? The Awesome Me is here!"

"You sure took your time," said Lovino, grinding some tomatoes.

"Roderich, Elizabeta," said Arthur, "welcome. If only it was under better circumstances."

"We understand the situation," said Roderich. "We intend to help as much as we can."

"We were just about to inform the rest of the nations of what's going on."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Arthur peered down at his feet. "Well, I already made the proper magic circle. Can't erase it now."

"Then by all means."

"The spell's somewhat long, so make yourselves comfortable. If I lose consciousness . . . Well, help me out by saying what needs to be said."

"You could get Papa to help you cast the spell," suggested Matthew. "He's magical too."

". . . Matthew, I'd really rather die than ask for his help, much less pass out."

"Lasagna's ready!" came Feliciano's voice from the kitchen.

"Wow, he's fast," said Alfred.

The nations chowed down while Arthur was burdened with casting his spell. The wonderful smell of Italian food didn't help any either. But he continued on, hoping they could at least save some for him.

"You okay, kid?" Gilbert asked Matthew. "You seem out of it."

"Not as out of it as Antonio," said the Canadian, glancing to the right where Antonio was lying fast asleep. "He was the first one. I had at least some idea of what I was up against."

"He's an old guy, Matt. He's seen centuries of bad things happening. You're still a kid, so of course you would want to panic and hide somewhere. What happened isn't your fault."

"It's not like you know firsthand, Gil."

"Sure I do. I'm pretty old myself. Old and still awesome."

"You owe me the maple syrup by the way."

"What? You remember that?"

"Yeah. I won, so pay up."

"Hold on a sec, how am I supposed you get maple syrup? You import the world's majority of maple syrup."

"Go bribe Alfred or something."

"Hey, it wasn't Arthur that found out first. It was France too."

"Doesn't matter. He's still one of the first. Our bet never said there couldn't be another person finding out with him."

"How about I hand you the payment after all this is over?"

Matthew shook his hand. "Deal."

Finally Arthur finished his enchantment. He collapsed onto Alfred, who was conveniently standing there.

"Whoa, bro," he said. "Hang on."

Alfred helped his older brother stand on his feet. Not a second later did a strange crystalline ball form in midair. When Alfred spoke next, he felt his voice echo throughout the entire building.

"This thing on?" he said.

"Shut up, Alfred," said Arthur, slightly wobbly on his feet. He appeared rather drunk, actually. "I'll do the talking."

"You're in no condition to talk."

"Don't tell me what to do."

No doubt that every single nation in the hotel would be thinking _What the hell is going on?_ while they hear strange voices coming from thin air that belong suspiciously to a certain American and Brit.

"I'll do the talking," announced Feliciano, emerging from the kitchens.

"You?" said Arthur.

"Feli is the right person," said Lovino. "He knows what he's doing."

Arthur was skeptical, but he allowed the Italian to pass. Feliciano stepped up to the crystal ball and took a deep breath.

"I know this will sound scary," he announced to the nations, "but . . . We don't have much time. Everyone, please listen to me. The fate of the world hangs in the balance. If we don't come together and work with each other, then we might as well give up right here. You will have your doubts, your excuses, but in the end, it all amounts to one thing:

"Whether we live or die is out of the question. It's the world we need to protect, and to do that, we must put aside our differences and help one another. Just as what we established long ago, what the treaty of the United Nations Charter dictates—in times of chaos and panic, all of us must do our part to ensure the safety of the Earth. This is what we nations have been entrusted to. This is the legacy the old civilizations have passed onto us.

"The question now is: Are you with me?"

* * *

**And for this chapter, Italy officially wins the _Best-Concluding-Line_ Award! Germany would be like, "_Sniffle, sniffle._ My little Italy is growing up so fast . . ." MUCH too fast, actually. Well, desperate times calls for desperate measures. Italy can't afford to be a coward anymore.**

**Ooh, it's getting intense! Thanks for reading, as always!  
**


	16. XVI: Bravado

"It's strange," said Yao Wang, or China as he's known formally to some. "Ivan's not breathing down my neck as usual."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" said Hong Kong.

"Oh, it is. I don't know what they're all doing, aru. It's like they're running around, but I don't understand what for."

"Maybe it's your old age."

Yao smacked him on the head. "Do not be disrespectful to your elders, aru!"

". . . Sorry."

Yao waved a hand. "Not that it makes a difference. I do not enjoy being in the dark, but I do need to worry about other important things. You never know; maybe it'll turn out trivial and I'd completely waste my effort worrying over it."

"Should we get involved?"

"No, aru. I feel like whatever happens, the world will sort things out by itself, with or without us. It's happened before. I can't afford to play around these days. So busy, aru. By the way, have you gotten the latest set of herbs, Hong?"

"Can't I not get it?"

"No."

Hong Kong slumped forward and released a melodramatic sigh. "Fine. But I'm going to get a bunch of firecrackers later and bomb England's room."

"Whatever you want."

"Yay," droned Hong Kong.

* * *

Lukas had specifically asked for a room all to himself, _far_ away from the other Nordics. He didn't mind his little brother Emil stopping by, but he certainly did not appreciate the rest of them stampeding over and playing poker in his living room.

Well, Denmark did most of the stampeding. Very loud, obnoxious stampeding.

"G' f'sh," said Sweden.

"Sve, this is poker, not Go Fish," said Finland, or Tino Väinämöinen, the one name in all of Hetalia that gets you tongue-tied.

"Wait, I thought we were playing cards, not fishing," said Mathias, the one known as Mr. Obnoxious.

"Flush," said Iceland, exposing his hand. "I win again."

"Ah, dang."

_Why?_ thought Lukas. _Why did you have to go to the dark side, Emil?_

"Hey, Nor, you should join us," said Tino. "It'll be fun!"

"No thank you."

"Yeah, you should come out of that corner of yours from time to time!" said Mathias. "You're going to start growing mushrooms otherwise."

"Shut it, Dane."

"C'n w' pl'y G' F'sh?" asked Berwald. "I l'ke f'sh."

Tino sighed wistfully. "Me too, Sve."

"Fish sounds nice," said Emil. "Not that I care."

"Sure ya don't, ye punk!"

"Be quiet," he told the puffin, "or I won't feed you."

"NOT THE FOOD!"

Mathias dumped his cards on the floor. "I'm thirsty. Anybody want a drink?"

"Water, please," said Tino.

"I don't think there's a beer named that," said the Dane, honestly thinking that water translates to beer.

The Fin laughed nervously. ". . . It's fine then; go enjoy yourself."

"Awesome!" The Dane went ahead to scrounge for the beers that Norway hid so well.

Meanwhile, a certain Norwegian was trying not to show off too much emotion. He had a reputation to uphold, and he wasn't going to be beat by that Asian man with a strange firecracker fetish.

"Brother?" said Emil, coming over. "You seen distracted. Is something bothering you?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. Dane's just super annoying."

"Yes, we all know that. But that's not all there is. Is there?"

Lukas remained silent. Truth was, each and every one of the Nordics were old and ancient. None of them really remembered if their ages went back to the era of the vikings, or even older than that. The strange events happening around this time reminded him of the same feeling he experienced long ago.

For some reason, he knew that he'd encountered such a phenomenon before. It wasn't just that—currently a dozen nations had been running around, thinking that the other nations wouldn't find out. But they weren't so discreet in their operations.

Lukas was aware of a growing foreign presence around each of their geographical borders. Something enormous was approaching, but he couldn't tell what yet.

"It's nothing to worry about," the Norwegian finally said. "It's not our business."

Emil cast a doubtful look in his direction. "If you're sure."

"I wonder what everyone else is doing right now," said Finland.

"Sleeping, no doubt."

"G' F'sh," said Sweden.

* * *

The minute Russia stepped into his room, he knew that that was the end.

"Brother . . ."

Screw the Frost Men—Belarus was creepy as hell!

"Natalia," began Ivan slowly, "what are you doing in my room?"

"I've heard that these are dangerous times, Brother," she said. "I came to protect you from the evil."

"Okay, let me rephrase question: _How_ did you get in my room?"

"I broke in through the window. The doors are very strong this year."

"Maybe because you tried the same scheme last year and took down my door. The engineers are smart; they purposely reinforced the wood with titanium to prevent crazy people like you from breaking and entering."

"But I am doing no such thing, Brother."

"Huh. Really? I should put a restraining order on you."

"That will not stop our blossoming love, Brother!"

"Get out."

"Brotherrrrrr . . . !"

An unseen force seemed to drag Belarus out of the window she came in from. Then the sound of bouncing balls came from the distance, and Ukraine crashed in from the other window.

"Where are you all coming from?" Ivan wondered.

Great. Now he needed two windows to reinforce with titanium.

"I heard the news," said Ukraine. "I want you to know that I'm there for you, Brother."

"Katyusha . . ."

Ukraine was a lot more tolerable than Belarus. But man!—her knockers were huge!

It was she that gave him his trademark scarf, even when Ukraine was a country in rags and tatters. Ivan hated to admit it, but Ukraine and Belarus were his only true family, and there was absolutely no way he'd lose the both of them to the hostile Frost Men.

He would protect them, at any cost.

"Katya," he said. "I want you to promise me . . ."

"Anything, Brother. You name it."

"Promise me that you will stay with Natalia, until the end. Don't leave her side—even when I'm not there. If there is news that I've . . . gone missing, I want you to take over my work for me. Make sure that the both of you live. Don't even step outside. In here, you're safe, and that's all that matters to me."

"Brother, what are you saying?"

"I think I will be going away soon, with my comrades. And we will be fighting. Please don't come after me. This is for your own good."

"Is this because of Syria? I know he's gone too far, but—"

"No, this isn't about him. This is about what will put the entire world in jeopardy, and I'm sorry. I cannot have you or Natalia take part in it."

Katyusha looked like she wanted to protest, but at the last second, she nodded. "Yes, Brother. If you wish. But please—promise me you'll be safe. It's what Mother would want."

"I will. And thank you."

Ukraine surged forward and wrapped her brother in a hug, smiling in pride. Then as quick as Belarus went, she was gone, and Ivan was once again all alone.

_Sometimes, being alone is a good thing. It simply means you don't risk dying with anyone you care about. _

Bitter, yet not any less true.

* * *

All this had gone on a few minutes before the magical broadcast was brought online.

At exactly 4:34 in the morning, a mysterious, invisible energy materialized close to any nation or group, allowing an ambient voice to be heard throughout the building.

This voice belonged to a certain cowardly Italian.

However, a few words in to his speech, none could begin to call Feliciano Vargas cowardly anymore. He started out unsure, hesitant, but he soon began to grow more and more confident. Was this really the Italy Veneziano they knew or heard about? Hadn't his voice always been high, cheery and just a tad bit shaky?

And just _what_ in the world was he blabbing on about?

Feliciano sighed. He knew revealing the truth would bring about dispute.

Everyone could hear his voice, and he could also hear every one of theirs. He proved unable to draw out any sentence individually, as they were all whispers and murmurs, but he could feel their discomfort and doubt.

He assumed that they would be more mature with their reasoning, but apparently he was expecting too much from them.

"_What is he saying?_"

"_What's this nonsense about protecting the world?_"

"_I don't have time for nonsense from a pathetic Italian!_"

"_Wait, isn't that Italy-san? What's he doing?_"

"_I don't think this is a good idea . . ._"

"_Now everyone knows!_"

"Bruder,_ I'm scared._"

Italy took a step back. "I—" He wasn't sure if he should continue. No one was listening at all.

A hand clasped his shoulder. Antonio gave him a shaky smile. "It's all right. You're doing great, Ita."

"_We'll get through this._"

"_Finally. It's about time, da_?"

"_I don't understand. What's happening?_"

"_It's what he says. I've . . . felt this._"

"_G' F'sh._"

"_Sve, that's not appropriate . . . Put the cards down._"

"_Are we in danger?_"

"_Do you think we should get involved NOW?_"

"_I won't listen to anyone else but my own judgment, aru._"_  
_

"_Brother says he'll be going away . . ._"

"I didn't want . . ." Feliciano said, his voice growing ever softer.

"You tried," said Antonio. "That's all that matters."

"_This is ridiculous. Can someone please explain?_"

"_Don't listen to that Italy person. He doesn't know what he's saying._"

Lovino gritted his teeth and stomped right up to the magical broadcaster. "Everyone, shut the fuck up and calm your shit. Learn to fucking listen before you judge, because unlike your pathetic excuses for existence, _this_is actually important.

The entire building was dead quiet.

"Give us a chance to explain," pleaded Antonio. "I've experienced first-hand what these things can do. If you would listen, we can all avoid something like that from happening again.

Feliciano lay a hand on his shoulder. "You should rest. I said I would handle this."

"No, I'm awake now. No use wasting this energy. I'll explain. You take a break."

Feliciano started to protest, but Elizabeta gently took him by the arm and led him away. Lovino stood beside Antonio, watching his condition in case he needed support.

"_Oi, Arthur, this one of ye spells?_"

"_Sure looks that way. It's quite similar to mine in retrospect._"

"My brothers," Arthur pointed out groggily.

"_The bloody hell we are. What's going on?_"_  
_

Antonio rubbed his chest uncomfortably. "That's a long story, but it basically starts where a pale, eyeless creature entered my home, chewed on my furniture, and nearly sliced my head off."

"_What's their intention?_" came another voice.

"We're not sure of that yet," reported Lovino. "All we know is that we're being targeted, one-by-one. Each nation has a specific creature deployed to hunt them down. There have been at least three attacks already."

"_Who were the victims?_"

"Well, there's me," said Antonio.

"And Heracles," Alfred added.

"And me again," said Antonio, "because apparently Heracles and Kiku didn't get the chance to finish off the monster, so it decided to crawl up here and kill me instead. Thankfully, I had Matthew with me, otherwise I would have really died the second time."

"That means they probably know when one of their kin dies, and they have the intelligence to feel the need for revenge," said Lovino. "Meaning, now that Matthew killed the creature, he's also a prime target."

"But there's no other way to get rid of them without becoming targets," said Antonio.

"_What are we dealing with exactly?_"

"I've been informed that they are called 'Frost Men' in Russia. We'll call them that for now, seeing as they really are as white as snow."

"_Is it just you and the Italians? Didn't I hear America somewhere in there?_"

"There are a lot of us, actually. Italy, Romano, America, Canada, Hungary, Austria, Prussia, England and France. That's not all, I think." Antonio turned and regarded the room at large. "You all have been busy while I was unconscious, haven't you?"

The guilty party glanced at each other sheepishly.

"Well, that doesn't matter. I'm aware there's Germany, Russia, Greece, Japan and Turkey now, too."

"Fifteen people," said Lovino. "Fifteen people on our side. You'd be seriously retarded to not believe us at this point."

"_I preferred it if I didn't know._"

"We can't afford that luxury anymore. If you want to sit around and do nothing and die, then go ahead. But don't come crying to us when you mysteriously find yourself dead."

"_. . . Fair enough. But if we are go against these Frost Men, how are we to fight them? Do they have a weakness?_"

"Everything has a weakness. Matthew?"

The Canadian stepped close to the magical orb, so that his soft voice could be heard by all.

"The way Antonio and I both defeated our respective Frost Man was through their open mouth. However, it's difficult to get to. I had to shoot my gun from inside its head, and Antonio simply got lucky with his aiming and ran the thing through with his sword."

"_Seriously? But aren't there more of them? It will take forever to defeat them all!_"_  
_

"I understand. There is a way to force them to submit, if I'm right about this theory."

"_And how's that?_"

"I told you the method of killing them, but it's not exactly their weakness. One word: sound."

"_Sound?_"

"Not just mere sound. But the highest frequency possible to man. With the right pitch, I bet we can shatter their frame structure and kill them for good. Fire alarms work well enough to disrupt their senses long enough for us to kill it through the head, but I believe adjusting the frequency will do the trick."

"How do you propose we do that?" Francis wanted to know.

"That's a good question, actually."

"I've got an idea," said Alfred.

"You sure?" said Arthur. "Maybe you should leave the thinking to us."

"No, no. I think this is an awesome idea."

"I like awesome," Gilbert inputted.

"Just hear me out," said Alfred, throwing his voice out to the other nations as well. "It sounds a little sci-fi, but I bet it's possible with the Italian mafia's help. Okay, imagine that we set up a radio frequency transmitter on top of every country's largest structure, 'kay? Say we turn it on all at the same time. At this height, the frequency should be able to transmit throughout region and take out any nearby Frost Men. We can even get the satellites to help out."

"No, the frequency would knock out the satellites' transmitters," said Lovino. "At the most, people would be without television, Internet and GPSes for the day. Unless the Frost Men decide to attack the civilians, which they haven't yet at this point. It won't bother humans because they can't hear it. Some animals would be rather agitated, but I doubt they'd die."

"It's not a bad idea," Gilbert said, looking thoughtful. "I think it would work. Do you think it's possible?"

"Sure," said Lovino, "but it will take a few days to produce that many transmitters using the limited number of people I have. I'll have them on it ASAP."

"I guess that means we won't be having the next World Summit meeting later," Roderich said.

"No." Feliciano retook his post near the magical broadcaster. "Did you all get that? We have to be serious, it's not a joke. No matter how much I wish it was.

"_If what you say is true . . . then every one of us is in danger._"

"We never said you weren't."

"_So at any moment, we could be attacked._"

"_Si_. You all know what this means, right?"

Silence.

Feliciano shut his eyes, and took a steadying breath.

"Yes. The United Nations of the Earth are officially at war."

* * *

**Do. Not. Bully. Italy. Ever. He has relatives in your country and won't hesitate to point that out.**

**Thanks for reading! _Au__ revoir~_**


	17. XVII: United

Those ten words had sparked a unified movement within the hotel.

Nations started to leave their rooms and visit their neighbours, discussing strategies. Some began setting up intelligence and messaging systems between the main brigade group of the resistance. Others went to work setting up a main meeting area for their floor.

All in all, they were convinced.

For once in so many years, every single nation on Earth was working with each other, without any conflict and disagreements. It was just one of those moments so rare, that you knew it would never occur again.

There was no religion involved. No race, no colour, no beliefs. It was as if they'd always known had to work with one another, but only when the time called for it.

The World was finally unified.

Feliciano Vargas breathed in deeply and fell back on a half-burnt couch. The electricity was still inoperative, and France's creepy floating balls of light could only hold out for a little bit longer.

"A nap right now would be good," Francis said, yawning.

"Papa, you need to stay awake," Matthew said. "Or just extinguish the lights. It's sapping your energy."

"I could take over," Arthur offered. "Though if Frog wants to die, he could."

"Oh no you don't," said Alfred. "You're just as weak after that communication spell."

England scoffed. "Honestly, Alfred. Do not underestimate me."

"Which reminds me," said Lovino, regarding the Englishman, "since we've told everyone what's going on, isn't this lockdown useless now? After all, it's only hindering us. We can't save the world trapped in a building the whole time."

"Good point. I'll call off Officer Payne and his men."

Arthur made a quick call downstairs to the officers guarding the first floor, but he couldn't seem to get through. He hung up and tried again.

"It's no good," he said. "We do have Wi-Fi, don't we?"

"We should," Gilbert said. "I mean, our PDAs work."

Arthur was just about to call for the third time when his phone rang. It was from Officer Payne. Apparently he'd been trying to reach the nation the same time England had been calling _him_.

"Hello?" Arthur spoke into his cell. "Yes, this is Kirkland." He leaned forward, as if double-checking that he heard right. "What? Say that again? What you saw . . . Hold on, slow down. What is it that you saw?"

A few more moments of tense silence as Arthur tried to get a decent answer out of his caller. He grew more and more pale the longer the conversation progressed.

"Jeffrey," Arthur finally stated. "Get your men and leave. Immediately. The lockdown is over, understood? Hurry and leave the area, and do not come in a five mile radius to this place. Have all residences in this vicinity evacuate this instant."

"Artie, what's going on?"

Arthur held his hand up for silence. "Do not even overlook the minors," he spoke into the phone. "They all need to get out safely, do you understand me? . . . No, do not worry about us. We'll be fine. All you need to worry about is get the people out of the city. We will provide you the time necessary. We will stand and fight."

"Fight?" said Feliciano, jumping to his feet. "We're going to be fighting? What's going on?"

"Yes." Arthur nodded a few more times. "Yes, that's right. Thank you for your services, Jeffrey. Yes, likewise." He ended the call, and turned to the nations. "We might have a problem."

"Why am I not surprised," said Antonio. "I'm supposing this isn't one of our average run-of-the-mill problem?"

"Unfortunately not. Figures in the dark have been sighted close to this area. I've been told it's a fair size in number. The rest doesn't need to be said."

"They're here again," Feliciano muttered. "They've come to kill us."

"Now let's not speak like that," Austria chided, his firm voice serving to calm their nerves. "No such thing shall happen to us, not when we have the support of every other nation. We'll get through this. There are a hundred or so of us; we can take them."

"Yeah," agreed Elizabeta, holding up the pan she got from nowhere. "It'll be no sweat."

"But you haven't fought them," Antonio said. "You don't know how tough they are."

"Ve, I want to be with Ludwig. He would know what to do. He always knows what to do."

Lovino frowned in his brother's direction and came to the conclusion that Feliciano was, in fact, utterly terrified of the prospect of a whole faction of Frost Men coming to invade them this instant. He wrapped his arms around Feliciano and held his younger twin close.

"It'll be okay," he said, mustering the best big brother tone he could. "You'll see. Everything's going to be fine."

"I hate this," Feliciano complained. "I hate things when it involves fighting. Why can't we all stop and make pasta? What do they _want_ with us?"

"In times of chaos, peace is born," Arthur murmured, recalling a strange saying his mother enforced on her children.

"Huh?" Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "What are you saying, Iggy?"

Arthur shook his head. "Huh? Oh. Nothing. Britannia used to say that all the time. Back then I hadn't known what she meant. She says war isn't always mindless. It serves as a lesson to all of us; that we can begin to understand our enemies through merely clashing swords."

"Hate to break it to you, Artie, but no one fights with swords anymore. It's guns and grenades, bro. Guns and grenades versus freakishly long claws and razor sharp teeth. What a really wise man told me once: 'Those who live by the sword . . . get shot by those who don't'. Therefore, do not live by the sword."

"Can't argue with that logic," Gilbert said.

Arthur cast his eyes towards the ground. "I suppose you're right." _Even so, I've been getting this nagging feeling at the back of my mind for a while now. I can't seem to put my finger on it . . .  
_

"We should inform the rest of the nations," Roderich suggested. "Also, we need to start planning as well."

"The communication orb is still operative," Matthew pointed out. "Someone give it a go."

Everyone seemed rather put out of it, so Lovino decided to take the helm. He left Feliciano to Antonio.

"Listen up, bastards," he spoke to the magical orb. "We've just got confirmation that a herd of the Frost Men are heading over here right now. Don't panic; simply ready yourselves for the time being. We're hitching a plan and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. And by the way, the lockdown's been lifted, but don't get any ideas. Any deserters will be marked a traitor and be promptly executed. Not by a nation, but by the Frost Men who are hunting you. You know who you are. I suggest you not try anything."

"How in the world can you sound so calm and casual?" Francis wondered incredulously.

Lovino shrugged.

Truthfully, he was also close to breaking. He was trying so hard not to give away the fact that he was shaking. He clenched his fists tighter and tighter until he drew blood. The only thing he could do was to keep his face inexpressive, to try and calm the others down.

He would act as their support for as long as he could, but no doubt he'd crumble along with them.

Feliciano and he were famously marked the cowardly Italians. He couldn't afford to play true to his nature now. No matter how much he wanted to.

"I'm scared too," he admitted to the nations. "I guess that's not so surprising. What bugs me is that this wouldn't be the last time I'll be feeling this way."

Alfred nodded, his eyes wide. "Word," he said.

"Let's hurry it up with the battle strategics, _si_? Matthew, I might need your expertise."

"On it," affirmed Canada.

Feliciano approached his brother and hugged him tightly, surprising him. "Thank you, _fratello_. I know I don't often express my gratitude for you, but I love you, _fratello_. I always will."

Lovino tried to hide his awkwardness. Instead, he mustered up his courage and patted Feli on the head. "Y-yeah. Just doing my job."

The nations set to work. A small group accumulated to volunteer for a little mission. Their task was to gather a few other nations: Russia, Germany, Japan—and Switzerland, surprisingly.

"Great, I'm stuck with you again," Arthur complained, wrinkling his nose at Francis.

"You wish you were as beautiful as _moi_." Francis flipped his hair.

Arthur gagged. "Ugh, yeah, no."

"No fooling around," said Prussia. "Come on, you two."

Gilbert ushered them out the door.

Austria, Hungary, the Italian brothers, America, Canada and Antonio decided to move the conversation elsewhere. They gathered around a makeshift war table in a separate room to discuss their strategy.

They extinguished the majority of the floating lights so it wouldn't impede Francis' movements, and they dragged the rest of them inside the room so they could see easier.

"Why did you send those guys out?" Elizabeta asked.

"Because they can fight," Matthew responded simply. "All right, here's the plan: Arthur, Francis and Gilbert are to grab the others and stand as the main fighting force against the Frost Men."

"What about me?" Alfred asked. "I can fight."

"I have no doubt about that, Al, but you see, you are the only person with access to alien technology. We'll be needing you too."

"For what?"

"For this." Matthew spread out a blueprint. It was etched in Italian. "This is Lovino's radio frequency transmitter. I need you, Alfred, to call up Tony and have him beam over the right materials."

"What? I thought we were going to fight. We can't waste time building stuff, Mattie."

Matthew gave his brother a disconcerting look. "Alfred . . . Well, I'll direct this at everybody—the fact is, we don't stand a _single chance_ against the Frost Men. It's true. I've been accessing all of our strengths and theirs; I have no doubts that they are much, much stronger than us. So Arthur and everyone else would need some help, or they'll be in deep trouble."

"Is that why you brought us into this room?" Roderich said. "So the rest of the nations don't hear this?"

"More despair won't do much good," Feliciano reasoned.

"Like I said," continued Matthew, "we need to build a transmitter. In the meanwhile the fighting force is occupied gathering more people, we'll be drawing up a battle plan. No doubt the other nations want to be included as well."

"You're sure this transmitter will work?" Antonio asked. "It'll kill the Frost Men?"

"Let's hope so. Otherwise we're all dead."

"We'll mount it atop the roof of this hotel," Lovino said. "The highest point, right?"

Alfred nodded.

"Then we'll be needing someone on the roof to wire together the proper electrical circuit," said Matthew. "Unfortunately, this transmitter requires a large output of electricity to work. We'll most likely be reducing this area to complete darkness in a matter of seconds."

"I'll help out," Feliciano volunteered.

Matthew nodded. "Anyone else?"

"I'll come," said Elizabeta. "The roof is a high point where we can see many things. I have battle expertise, so we can map up an attack plan up there."

"Good idea. Antonio, Lovino, Alfred, Roderich . . . Sorry, but you're all stuck down here assembling the transmitter."

"Fine with me," said Lovino. "I'm not letting anyone else touch my technology anyway. Just page us what you guys find out, and we'll forward it to the rest."

Feliciano wasn't comfortable with being far away from his brother for a long time. His hesitation was clear.

"It'll be okay, Feli," Lovino said, trying to reassure him. "It's you I'm worried about, actually. Without Germany around, you don't have motivation for anything."

Feliciano stayed silent.

"Don't do anything stupid, Alfred," Matthew said.

"Chill out, bro. I've got this."

Matthew cast him a disbelieving look, but suddenly felt a tug on his pants. He looked down and spotted Kumajirou.

"Hey," he said. "Where have you been, Kuma?"

"Hiding," the polar bear replied. "Scary monster."

Canada smiled softly. "Well, it's gone now. Come on." He helped his bear climb onto his shoulder. Then he motioned to Feliciano and Elizabeta that it was time to head on up to the roof. "We won't be gone long."

"Let's hope you're not," said Roderich. "You three come back safely to us."

Feliciano saluted, his face tight, as if he was going off to war.

"If the others come back and we're still not here yet, tell them we're up on the roof," Matthew said.

"And if you're not?" Antonio ventured.

"Then we're most likely dead. Let's hope that's not the case."

Alfred laughed shakily. "Don't be so blunt, Mattie. You're scaring me."

"Just hurry and call Tony, Al. See you later."

Matthew was only half out the door before Alfred grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

"Eh? What's up?" he said.

Alfred placed his gun into Matthew's hand. "This helped you out once. It will again. Stay safe, Mattie."

Matthew looked at the firearm as if it was the first time he was seeing it. "Uh, thanks, Al."

"I'm a firm believer in good luck," continued America. "And you seem to have tons of it. So . . . use it when you have to."

After saying their initial goodbyes, Canada, Italy and Hungary headed out the door. With a decisive click, the room was plunged again into quiet.

"We're going to need a lot more than just Germany, Japan, Russia and Switzerland," Roderich spoke, his voice coming out much too loud.

"I was thinking the same thing," Lovino said. "Any suggestions?"

"How about we grab one of the oldest people in history?" Alfred offered.

"You mean China?"

"Ehh, second-oldest."

"Egypt?"

"Uhh . . . How about the Northern Pirates?"

"Err," said Antonio, wracking his brain for the right word. "You mean the vikings?"

"Yeah, those guys."

"The Nordics," said Lovino, cautiously. "You sure?"

"Well, they bicker amongst themselves occasionally, but no one knows how to work together as a family more than they do. We'll need their tag-team prowess."

"That's not a too bad suggestion," Roderich remarked. "I'll go out quickly and ask them to come here. Antonio, you're still injured. Lovino's the only one who knows how to build the transmitter, and Alfred is the only one in the world who has the materials. I'm the obvious right choice."

"Just be careful, Roderich," said Lovino.

The Austrian nodded. "I will."

He disappeared out the door.

"I know we're united and all," Alfred said, meeting eyes with Romano and Spain, "but does anyone have the same feeling as I do?"

"Like what?"

"That we're more alone than ever."

* * *

**Finally! Our favourite American gets the last word! Congratulations, America. You win a hamburger! **

**Ugh, I thought after the tests and all I'd be free, but apparently not. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. There's more to come!  
**


	18. XVIII: Calibration

"Do either of you know how to wire electrical circuits to the main generator in the basement?" Matthew asked his companions.

"Enough," replied Feliciano.

Elizabeta had recently gone to her room and grabbed her sword. Not that her pan wasn't effective, but she had to be practical here. "I'm here to draw up battle plans and to protect the two of you in case something goes wrong."

"Right," said Matthew. "Because everything _always_ goes wrong."

"Don't jinx it. Feli is superstitious enough as it is."

They walked by a storage room. Matthew paused and backtracked. He peered curiously at the door knob.

"Looks locked," Elizabeta said.

"Not for long." He clicked off safety. "Sorry about this."

Matthew aimed his brother's gun at the lock and fired. There was a huge bang and the lock flipped off, ricocheting around the hall. The Canadian barely reacted. He wrenched the door open.

"What was the point of that?" Feliciano said.

"I needed something in here."

Both Feliciano and Elizabeta looked at each other, and then shrugged. They followed Matthew inside the room.

"And what are you looking for?"

"A toolbox or something to cut wires and weld them together. I would have asked someone to open the door for me, but the staff are all gone and no one knows where the keys are. So . . ."

"Say no more, friend. It's what you had to do."

Matthew bent down and rummaged around in a large cardboard box. Then he pulled out a black duffel bag. The metal inside jangled noisily. Matthew unzipped it open.

"It's in here," he said. "Come on; we need to hurry."

He slung the bag over his shoulder and brushed past Feliciano, who stood there for a few blank seconds before scurrying out after him.

"This building only has 25 floors, right?" Feliciano guessed.

"26, actually," said Matthew. "The elevators only go up to the 25th floor, but there is a back staircase leading to the 26th floor, where we can climb a ladder up to the roof."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm staring at it."

They'd arrived at the elevators. There was a whole floor-plan stuck to the wall.

"They also have the building's electrical wiring here," continued Matthew. "This could help."

He ripped the floor-plan right off the wall.

Feliciano cringed. "Are you sure we should be—?"

"Well, I already shot a door open. Can't turn back now."

Feliciano stared at the Canadian. He knew that Matthew tried hard to differentiate himself from his brother, but his recent behaviour reminded him a lot of Alfred. Except Matthew was a lot more reasonable and contained.

But who was he to judge? He barely knew the both of them, until recently.

"You need to stop being so influenced by your brother," Feliciano chastised. "It'll be the end of you."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "What are you talking about? Have you ever considered that Alfred acts like _me_?"

The elevators doors opened and Matthew walked in.

Feliciano blinked. "You're . . . You're joking, right?"

Elizabeta walked passed and patted him on the shoulder. "Better if you don't think about it, Feli."

The ride up was more civilized than Feliciano expected. The world was ending right before them, and here they were, listening to corny elevator music.

"This hotel is easily not the tallest building in the area," said Matthew. "But since the amount of nation activity here is so concentrated, it wouldn't matter. Elizabeta—"

"Hm?" She'd been too busy thinking about something and didn't notice him calling her name. "What is it?"

"Thank you for your help."

"What's the thanks for? I never asked for it."

"He's right, though." Feliciano smiled. "Thank you, Liz. We can't control what you may see or experience tonight, but just know that we're here."

She was at a loss for words. Elizabeta laughed awkwardkly. "Hey, don't say that. You two are really making it seem like we're all going to die."

Both of the nations dropped their smiles and gazed at their feet. Elizabeta stared; their eyes seemed so hollow and dejected, as if they were debating on giving up.

They were just kids, and yet at this moment they appeared so much older than they were, like they'd recently seen spoils of war fit for an entire lifetime—but all into a matter of _hours_. She felt an overwhelming urge to rush forward and shield them from the horrors of the world. This was the duty of the elder generation, wasn't it?

"Hey, you two . . ." she said. "What did you really see? What are they like?"

"I didn't see it directly," said Feliciano, "but Matthew—"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Matthew spoke softly, but judging by the tone of his voice, he could have just as easily _snapped_ the reply, if his voice was a little louder.

"Silly me." Elizabeta looked away. "I shouldn't have asked."

The conversation could've gone on longer, but the elevators arrived at the 25th floor and the doors drifted apart.

Floor 25 was the last residential floor. The 26th floor was mostly used for storage and elevator maintenance. The gears on top served to lift and lower the elevators. Engineers would climb to the 26th floor to check whether the elevator gears needed fixing or oiling.

And above the 26th floor was nothing. Just the roof and open sky.

"Almost there," said Feliciano.

Canada led them up the stairwell. The 26th floor appeared to be like an underground parking garage, except with windows. The elevator gears were protected by a metal fencing identical to the olden days elevators, where you had to slide close a metal pane to secure the lift.

Old light-bulbs blinked on and off as they swung from side to side.

"This building was built to withstand strong winds," Matthew told them, reading the floor-plan. "The steel frames are very flexible, so the hotel actually sways. You wouldn't be able to tell, but these light-bulbs? They're proof of that. Many structures today are built like this, including Alfred's World Trade Centers."

"But doesn't that make the overall structure weak?" Elizabeta asked. "I mean, sure the metal's flexible, but it just means it'll come down easier."

Matthew rolled up the floor-plan. "That's also true." He pointed into the distance. "The ladder's over there."

They came across a step-ladder leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling. A single light-bulb hung over the stairs, illuminating the pathway.

"I'll go first," said Feliciano.

The meek Italian wrapped his hand around the trapdoor handle and pushed. Due to being weather-worn and rusted, he had to try several times. On his fourth go, the door popped upwards with a _CRACK!_ and cold air rushed in.

Elizabeta shivered. "I didn't remember it being this cold. It's the middle of July!"

Feliciano climbed to the top first and disappeared from sight. He came back a second later and gestured for them to follow.

"Careful now," he warned, yelling over the winds. "There are a bunch of large cables running across the top. Nearly fell on my face."

After the last person was out, Elizabeta shut the trapdoor behind her. It was only an hour or two before sunrise, so it was still fairly dark out, meaning anyone could take a misstep and fall through the opening.

Matthew lumbered over to a standing electric panel and pulled it open. Then he looked down, following the cables and finally resting his eyes on a giant satellite dish mounted on a stone block.

"_Merde_," he said. "This could take a while."

"Why?" inquired Feliciano.

Matthew pointed at the satellite dish. "That thing's huge. It'll take me forever to cut and rewire the lines properly, without short-circuiting just about every single thing that runs on power in this hotel."

"I'll help. We'll get this done in time, no problem."

"That's not the only problem," came Elizabeta's voice.

She'd found herself at the edge of the roof, looking over into the distance. She narrowed her sharp eyes and pointed.

"A large body of something is quickly moving in at 3 o'clock, probably 13 miles off." She turned. "6 o'clock—12 and a half. 8 o'clock—11 miles. 11 o'clock—12 miles." She locked eyes with the others. "This isn't looking too good."

"Well, at least their attention is on us," Matthew said. "That should mean the citizens are okay."

"Or Officer Payne evacuated everyone."

"No. Arthur said a five mile radius."

"Then they must want us real badly."

"You two hurry with the electrical wiring," said Elizabeta. She gazed down at the streets. "I'll handle the strategics."

Feliciano could picture the gears in the Hungarian's head grinding as she formulated a battle plan.

_Let's hope we have enough time._

"Right." Matthew had taken out a rubber hand and was now tying up his hair. "Let's do this."

"What are you orders, sir?" Italy asked.

Matthew acknowledged him. "Only something _you_ can do, Feliciano." He pointed to the electric panel. "Start pressing some buttons."

"And what about you?"

The Canadian pointed to the satellite dish. "I'm going to start smashing things."

And so, while Feliciano took his time to figure out what each button on the console meant, Matthew had headed on over to the satellite dish and unbolted it. He ripped it off the block and started to safely sever the wires connected to it.

"Okay!" Feliciano called over. "Exactly what should I be looking for?"

"Try to find the satellite dish's grid," said Matthew, peering at the floor-plans. "Once you do that, make sure the AC is engaged so we won't cut off the entire building's electricity."

"Which button is that?"

"The blue one!"

"OH!" That made things easier. Feliciano pushed the blue one. "Okay, now what?"

"Just hold on a sec! Feli, do you see switches on the panel?"

"Er, yeah! What are those for?"

"Flip the first, second and fourth!"

He did that. The satellite dish exploded. Matthew felt backward and knocked his head on the pavement.

Feliciano freaked out. "You said first, second and fourth! I flipped those!"

Matthew sat up slowly, rubbing at his smarting scalp. "Ugh . . . Feliciano, there are numbers under the switch that say 1, 2, 3, and 4. You flip _those_."

"But they're out of order!"

"I know."

"Why are they built like that?! That makes no sense!"

"Feli, just because they're positioned from left to right doesn't necessarily make them 1 to 4 in order. That one's on me. I should have mentioned that before I gave you the instructions."

Feliciano apologized again and flipped the correct switches. There was a hum under their feet and Matthew successfully cut the wires. Feliciano ran to the trapdoor and poked his head through the opening to check if the building's power was still going.

It was.

"We did it!" he said. "Now what? Can we attach the transmitter now?"

Matthew nodded. "First we need the transmitter, though."

"Oh, right."

Feliciano sighed. Things were so much easier with Ludwig around. Germany knew how to do _everything_. Feliciano couldn't remember the last time the electricity went off in his house and he'd called Ludwig over to fix it. It occurred much too often.

"Also," Matthew continued, stepping over to the panel, "I need to recalibrate the energy output from the basement generator to the transmitter. Bad news for the city; I'll have to redirect all the electricity to this point, and then I need to solder the appropriate wires together so it wouldn't short-circuit on us."

Feliciano wasn't ashamed to say he understood none of this technical stuff. But he'd help out anyway he could.

"How much energy do you think it'll take?" he asked.

Matthew thought about it, tapping his chin. "I'd say . . . Well, if this were Las Vegas, the transmitter would reduce the whole area to the blackout."

"That much?!"

"It's only for a few sec—"

"Hey, you two," said Elizabeta suddenly. "I've got it." She was holding up her PDA. "I have the battle formulation. Lovino should be getting the data."

Italy and Canada glanced at each other.

"So now what?"

"Well," she declared, unsheathing her sword, "we wait."

* * *

Alfred was speaking to Tony and silently hoping that the alien would lend them some of his supplies to build a high frequency transmitter.

"Tony, bro!" Alfred said. "The world's about to end—we don't have time for this!" He cast a helpless glance at Spain and Romano. "No, dude. We need them _now_. I don't care if you have to run upstairs and get it . . ."

"How's it coming?" Antonio asked.

Alfred held up a finger and shifted his weight to his other leg. "Tony, hurry up, man. Just beam it over already."

A few seconds later and a box materialized on the table. There was some angry cursing coming from the other end of Alfred's phone.

"We're facing hundreds of alien zombies, Tony," Alfred said exasperatedly, shaking a fist. "No, bro! What are you saying? No one can beat you at being alien. You are the best alien ever . . . Yep. Yep. Okay. Bye!"

He hung up.

"What was Tony yelling about?" Antonio wondered.

"He says beaming over stuff to the other side of the world takes a lot of energy. He could only do it once per day."

"That's fine. We only need it once per day."

"Yeah, he burnt all the fuses in my house."

"It's temporary, right?"

Alfred shrugged, as if saying _Who knows?_

"Okay, enough of that," Lovino interrupted, and got straight to the point. "We have the supplies; now we need to start building. It's fairly simple. The object that actually emits and amplifies frequency has already been installed. We just need to screw the casing together."

"Sounds simple to me," said Alfred.

"Oh, it is. Even for someone of your intellect."

Alfred smiled proudly. Maybe he didn't detect the hint of sarcasm in Lovino's tone.

"What's the blueprint for, then?" Antonio asked.

"Oh that?" Lovino shrugged a shoulder. "Luckily Tony has the actual transmitter. Otherwise we'd have to use this thing and try to build from scratch. It's mostly for looking smart."

"Interesting."

Romano hoisted up a toolbox from under the table and dug around for a screwdriver. He handed a wrench to Alfred and some duct tape to Antonio.

The Spaniard appeared puzzled by the presence of duct tape. "Why this?"

"Because we don't have time to wait for the super glue to dry. Now help me put this together."

The trio set to work building the transmitter. Alfred shocked himself a couple of times, and Lovino nearly lost a finger, but they were making good progress. About a third of the way through—because they got lost in the blueprint several times—Lovino received a notification from his pager.

"Who is it?" Antonio said absentmindedly, trying to figure out if the blue wire went with the black wire or the red wire. He was having a hard time deciding. "What is _with_ this thing? I can't— For God's sake."

Alfred handed him a yellow wire. "Try this one."

Antonio fit together the blue with the yellow. The main interface lit up. "Yes. Finally."

"It's Hungary." Lovino read over the message. "She's got the battle plan. The Frost Men army is about 9 miles off from here."

"That's much too close," said Antonio. "These creatures are fast. We have ten to twenty minutes at the most. Let's hope Gilbert comes back with the rest of the people, or else we're all screwed."

"Then let's hurry up," suggested Alfred. "Mattie should be done on the roof. We need to get this thing to him."

"Alfred, forget that," said Lovino. "Go run across the hall to your room and get the weapons we told you about. The fighting group's going to need them."

"Roger."

The Italian picked up the wrench and handed it to Antonio. "It's up to you and me now."

Up on the wall, the clock ticked by ever so steadily. The battle would start at 5 AM.

* * *

**Oh, Canada . . . What are you saying sorry for? That was awesome! Only he would apologize for firing a gun. **

**If any of you are wondering how a Frost Man really looks like, imagine one of those monsters from Amnesia: The Dark Descent. If you've never heard of this horror game, Google it. Oh, right, except these Frost Men are ten times more frightening.  
**

**Well, how about this? Frost Men are Amnesia monsters combined with the Slender Man. How 'bout that? Yeah . . . take it in and tremble.  
**


	19. XIX: Recruitment

Prussia, England, and France all drew straws to see who would get stuck with recruiting Switzerland.

Francis collapsed and wailed dramatically. In French, of course.

Arthur laughed in his face. "I swear, you have the worst luck in the world, Frog!"

"At least I didn't get _Russia_," Francis spat, still grovelling on the ground. "I am most definitely coming to your funeral and spitting on your grave."

"Yes, but Switzerland's always been neutral and a tad bit trigger-happy. You'd be incredibly lucky he doesn't shoot you on the spot, and since it's—well—_you_, he would most definitely shoot you on the spot."

"Vash knows what's going on," Gilbert said. "I'm sure he'd work with us, if you approach him cautiously."

Arthur shrugged and walked off in one direction. "Well, see you lads later. I'll be on the 18th floor. Don't wait up."

After the Englishman was gone, Francis went on his knees and begged at Gilbert's feet.

"Please switch with me," he said. "I don't want to talk with Switzerland. He thinks I'm a perverted old man!"

"That's because you are," Gilbert said. "Begging is not awesome. The awesome me is going to bring down West and Japan. You will go downstairs and fetch Vash. End of story."

"Oh, the cruel world," Francis sighed, as Gilbert disappeared into an elevator. "Why must you torment me so?"

But he didn't have a choice. Francis got into a lift and selected floor 4.

He didn't have to wait for the Frost Men to kill him—Switzerland would get to that first.

* * *

_Knock, knock._

Arthur waited. And waited. And waited. He waited until—

The door opened. "_Da?_"

"God, finally," said Arthur. "What were you doing in there?"

Ivan held up a bottle of swishing liquid. "Vodka?"

Arthur lowered the bottle. "Er, no thanks. I actually came up here to make a proposition."

The Russian smiled slowly. "And what's that?"

"Oh, I think you know."

"Yes, but I believe it's more fun if you tell me."

Arthur smirked. "All right then. Would you, by any chance, be interested in helping us save the world?"

"Will I be able to smash heads in?"

"Why, yes you will."

"Then yes. Yes, I would be interested."

"Brilliant."

"Lead the way, little pirate man."

Arthur grimaced. "Don't call me that."

"Apologies."

* * *

Floor 23 was like a generals' war-room. Except, it was all in one hall, and it was led by none other Germany.

The German was giving orders from left to right. Japan stood by him like his lieutenant, also shouting commands.

Gilbert pushed through the crowd and announced his presence.

"West, Kiku," he called.

They lifted their heads. "Gilbert?"

"I hate to break up this war campaign, but I really need to speak with you both."

Ludwig waved off a nation showing him a chart of some sort and directed all his attention on his older brother. "What's this about, Gilbert?"

"I need you and Kiku to come downstairs with me," said Gilbert. "This concerns the potential invasion."

"You mean this is about the army of Frost Men coming here right now?" asked Kiku. "Then by all means, Gilbert-san. Tell us what you know."

"You'll be informed further once we get there," Gilbert said, "but for now, we're recruiting several powerful nations to help fight against the Frost Men. Both of you are one of the few chosen. We believe that until we can find a proper way to defeat these monsters, we would need some nations to hold them back."

"But why us?"

"Because you are one of the strongest—and the fact that there's no time. Dawdling is not awesome. We got to go now."

Ludwig looked down at his current work, and then abandoned it completely. There were so many things he'd been meaning to address: defenses, escape routes, provisions. Putting all that aside now would be disastrous. However, just leaving an attack plan out was even more foolish.

"If you say that this is the best course of action," he said, "then it is. Kiku?"

"_Hai_. I will be present as well."

"Excellent," said Gilbert. "Now let's hope everyone else has been recruited."

* * *

Francis _really_ didn't want to do this.

He rapped his knuckles on the Swiss's door.

"Who is it?" came a voice from the other side.

"It's me," said Francis helpfully. "You know . . . Your dear friend, whom you've known for so long—"

"I know it's you, pervert."

"Ack. Well, then, I've . . . come to propose an idea to you, Vash."

"Do not throw my name around so casually. You are not welcomed here. Leave."

"No, please, you have to understand! If you don't come with me, the world is—"

"I've got a 50 pound rifle trained on your vital regions. If you do not shut up and leave, then Paris is done for."

Francis shrieked and covered his vulnerable parts. Not that it would do much good.

"You do know that the world is going to end, right?" he tried again. "If you don't come with me, then we're all dead. Everyone, not just us. But the people as well. You're targeted too. Even your little sister."

That seemed to get Switzerland's attention.

"I am neutral, you know," the Swiss said cautiously. "I've always been neutral. You do understand that by the laws of nature, I cannot simply renounce my position and take a side. Otherwise the world will fall apart."

"The world _will_ fall apart if you don't help us," Francis suggested. "We're already outnumbered and outmatched. Without you, we may not be able to survive this invasion. Neutrality is all about balance between two opposing sides, _n'est-ce pas_? Well, I hate to break it to you, Vash, but if you don't join us, one side _will_ lose, and that will be us. You call that balance?"

"He's right, _bruder_."

"Shhh, Lili. Let me do the talking."

"You heard the broadcasting!" Francis interrupted. "I know you're tempted to help us, Vash. That's what you're thinking, right? If you join us, you _can_ protect Lili. This isn't some war between two conflicting sides. Your neutrality only applies to nations. But we're not facing nations! This war we're fighting is against the planet itself. Every single one of us has been united. Except you. Do you want to disappear, or do you want to make sure you legacy lives on, Vash?!"

The door swung open. The Swiss was sporting several different firearms. Francis didn't even know the human body could carry that many.

"I don't care about the world," said Vash. "I've always been neutral. I'd been fine, even through the World Wars."

"You know that's not true."

"That doesn't matter. I've said already—I don't care about the world. But that only applies to everyone else. I've promised myself long ago that I would protect Lili. And I would achieve that no matter what the cost."

"So you mean . . ." Francis was surprised. Surprised at the Swiss's cooperation and his own diplomatic skills. "You mean you're joining us?"

"Incorrect," said Switzerland. "I'm merely stating that your goals help mine. I want to—"

"But you're going to help us, _oui_?"

"Well, yes . . . but that doesn't mean—"

"Excellent," said the Frenchman. "This is very good. All according to plan. We should hurry upstairs."

"Hold on a second!" Vash demanded. "I can't simply leave Lili, here, unattended!"

"I'll be fine, _bruder_," said the little nation. "You've taught me well, haven't you?"

"You have no say in this, Lili." Vash turned to Francis. "I am not leaving her here by herself."

"She'll be fine!"

"If you insist on me leaving her here, vulnerable to any harm, I will most definitely _not_ join your si—"

"If you don't come with me, she will most _definitely _be vulnerable to harm," Francis threatened not-so-discreetly.

"Stop cutting me off," Vash demanded. "I am trying to make a point h—"

"This is getting nowhere," said Francis. He pointed at Switzerland. "You, come with me." He pointed at Liechtenstein. "You, run upstairs and hide with Feliks or one of the other Baltics, preferably not Ravis, since he's as small as you."

"You cannot force me to join your side!" Vash screamed at Francis.

"Look here, _monsieur_," said the Frenchman. "While the world around us is slowly falling into chaos, you're here arguing with me over your sister. Well, I'll have you know that through the years, I've seen countless siblings of mine fall to their own doom. If you want to protect Lili so badly, I suggest you start with making the world a better place for her to live in!"

Vash was speechless. Usually France acted like a pervert, sparkling and throwing roses in every direction, but what he said then was sincere.

That's right. It wasn't just him that wanted to protect Lili. Many other nations had lost one of their family through the years. For some, many, many family members. This was no time to be selfish.

He took a back-glance at Lili. She smiled at him reassuringly.

"Go hide with Feliks and Toris," he told her. "No matter what, stay with them. I won't be gone long, I promise."

"Thank you_, bruder_. Do your best."

Vash nodded. He regarded Francis.

"I still don't like you," he said. "But, it's like you say. We don't have time for arguments. The world is at stake, and without the world, how would there be any sort of neutrality at all?"

Francis grinned. "Exactly, _monsieur_. Glad you see my point." He pointed at the Swiss's guns. "And bring those. We'll need them."

Vash inclined his head. "Then by all means. Lead the way."

* * *

"Hey, Lovi?"

"Hmm?" Lovino was busy screwing shut a lid, so he couldn't exactly talk at the moment. "What do you want?"

"I was just wondering," said Antonio, "but . . . when you found out that I was attacked, did you really . . . you know . . . cry?"

Lovino slammed down his screwdriver. "Okay, which bastard told you?"

Antonio shrugged and made bizarre hand gestures. "I don't know. Some bird up in the tree, I guess."

Lovino narrowed his eyes. "It was that _bastardo_ Feli, wasn't it?"

". . . He may have mentioned it to me," Antonio said, weighing his chances. "Though, you can't blame him."

"Blame him?!" Lovino's face suggested he'd initiated Murder-Mode. "When I get my hands on him, I'll—"

"But you did cry, right?" Antonio interjected.

Lovino was caught off-guard. The anger melted out of him. "Well, I—I wasn't—I mean I was, but I—" He took a deep breath. "Look, you can't honestly expect me to think straight when you've just about walked in on a crime scene, especially when it's a friend that's lying in a pool of blood."

"So I'm your friend?" Antonio said hopefully.

Lovino gave him a strange look. "Yeah, I—I guess." He peered down at his hands. "No. Antonio, you're much more than that to me. I mean, you could be a complete dick sometimes, but you had always been there for me. And just seeing you like that, knowing that you could very well be dead—I couldn't handle the truth. I admit it. I panicked. Okay? I panicked and ran to the others. But that is totally a one-time thing."

Antonio grinned. "A one-time thing, huh? You sure? You seemed awfully worried about me. I heard about that too."

"That bastard told you more?!"

"Well, this time it was from Alfred."

"I knew that stupid American couldn't be trusted!"

"It was mostly Francis, though. You know how he likes gossip and the like."

"Do I have to kill everyone?!"

Antonio laughed and slung an arm around Lovino's shoulder. "Ah, Roma. You're so cute when you're irritated. That's partly why I still keep you around."

Lovino choked and threw the offending arm away. "_What?_ I'm _what_ when I'm_ what_? You know, I really didn't want to make your death come true, but now I see I have no choice."

"Roma, you don't have to hide it. You were worried about me, admit it."

"I . . ." Lovino turned away indignantly. "No way!"

"Oh, come out with it. There's no use pretending! I wasn't _totally_ unconscious when you walked in on me. I heard some things on my own. And then there's also the fact that you were going to avenge me. Is that true, too?"

Lovino banged his head on the table. "Kill. Me. Now!"

Antonio guffawed. It was fun laughing at his ex-henchman's expense, but it also felt good just laughing. Ever since the truth came out, no one had been able to smile. He wanted to capture the moment and keep it close.

"Don't be like that, Lovi. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" said the Italian, still smashing his head on the table. "I won't be able to live with this resentment. Ever! You're going to keep laughing at me, and I'll never hear the end of it—"

Antonio grabbed his head so he wouldn't proceed to hurt himself further. "Stop it, Lovi. It's only us in the room. No one can hear this conversation."

"Doesn't mean you won't tell anyone."

The Spaniard smiled. "Well, there's that too."

Lovino opened his mouth to swear, but Antonio stopped him before he could.

He planted a kiss on Lovino's forehead. "Take care of yourself, all right, Roma? I won't be around forever."

Lovino was stunned. "You . . . What are you saying? Yes you will. You're not going to disappear. I'm making sure that would never happen."

"No, no. I'm just saying. In case it happens, you know?"

Lovino smacked a hand against his forehead, his face red.

"And thank you," said Antonio. "Thank you for being there for me."

"No, it's my fault. I should have accepted your invit—"

_BEEP._

Lovino frowned and drew out his PDA. His eyes widened.

"The battles plans," he muttered. "We have it. Elizabeta sent it!"

"Oh, that's good," said Antonio. "Now we just gotta wait for the rest of the guys to come back. I wonder how Alfred's doing with getting the guns."

Lovino glared at the Spaniard. "I know what you're doing. Trying to change the subject, are you. Well, if you _ever_ tell anyone about this conversation, rest assured you'll never see the living daylights again."

Antonio just laughed.

"Jerk."

* * *

**Oh, look. I made an One Direction joke up there. England and his one direction . . . Yes, I know. You're probably tired of that joke.  
**

**Aw, the Spain/Romano scene was kind of fluffy... And France! Show 'em what you got, old dude! So many highlights in this chapter for me.  
**

**Thanks for reading, as always!  
**


	20. XX: Countdown

Roderich assumed recruiting the Nordics would be an easy task.

He was wrong.

_Fight occasionally,_ Alfred said. _They're the best when working with each_ _other_, he said. _Blah-blah-blah, because they're family, blah-blah-blah_ . . .

_Fight occasionally_ was putting it lightly. The Nordics fought. A lot.

When Roderich finally managed to find their room, there was already chaos. Like everyone else, the Nordics were trying to plan a counterattack, put up defensive positions and assign specific roles.

_Trying_ was the key word, here. They were trying—and failing.

Everyone was arguing—Roderich had _no idea_ what the hell Sweden was doing—Denmark was yelling and utterly oblivious to the opinions around him, Norway looked ready to shoot someone, Finland was trying to calm everyone down, and oddly enough Iceland was doing . . . nothing.

He was going to burst a blood vessel soon.

Even when the Austrian used his best soothing voice to calm them down, their voices would still escalate louder than his. Every. Damn. Time. And the worst part of it all was that he couldn't understand what in the world they were talking about.

What _were_ they talking about?

"Do think maybe we should try looking for other—"

"Want a fishcake?"

"HEY! I'm trying to—"

"What the hell's going—?"

"He's always been insane."

"FOOD!"

"Calm down . . ."

"This is ridiculous."

"G' F'sh."

"Where do you keep the beer, Nor?!"

"Kill me. Please."

Roderich felt sympathy for the Norwegian. What was his name again? Lukas, right?

He was like the only sane person out of all of them. The others were either utterly stupid, creepy, temperamental or . . . Well, Finland was okay. He was just too happy sometimes.

"Can you all _please_ listen?" Roderich said.

Mathais had this uncanny ability to stay sober no matter the amounts of alcohol he consumed. Perhaps it was because he acted drunk all the time, so his usual demeanour would be considered normal.

And what was with the "G' F'sh?"

"We were playing cards earlier," explained Tino. "I think Sve's hungry."

"Mr. Puffin ate all the food," Emil said, looking over his pet. "Bad puffin. Now we don't have anything to eat. And it's not like we know where the kitchens are."

"Shut it, ye punk! I can't go a day without food, you know that!"

"G' F'sh."

Roderich was ready to smash his face into a pole.

"What are you here for again?" Lukas asked.

"It's like I said before." The Austrian faced him, since no one else bothered to listen. "You heard the broadcast earlier. I'm here to ask you five to join our main fighting force in pushing back the Frost Men until we could obtain something else that can finish them off for good. Would you be willing to take up such a mission?"

Lukas stared. "You're asking us to fight against these so-called monsters."

"It's the only way to prevent them from swarming the hotel until we can set up our transmitter."

"What's that?"

"Never mind! So, will you? Otherwise this hotel will be overrun, and all of us would die."

"And you're sure it would work."

". . . Yes. Definitely. I'm just not sure our combined powers would hold them off for long."

"Who else is in on this?"

"Germany, Japan, Prussia, England, France, Russia and Switzerland. Now, if you agree to come with me, it would be five more. That would be twelve people."

"Why us?"

Roderich leaned forward. "I'm sorry, what?"

Lukas glanced around at his brothers. Would they shut up already? Did they have to be so loud?

"I said, why—"

Roderich leaned forward, blinking rapidly. "I still can't—" He spun around. "SHUT UP!"

The Nordics quieted.

"Thank you."

"Why us?" Lukas repeated.

"Because, though you've abandoned such a trait long ago, you know how to fight. These days you're about the fishery exports, but back then you were the fierce conquerors of the Northern seas. The Vikings. I'm asking you to graciously take up such a post again."

"Fight?" said Tino. "Is it that serious?"

"Very much so."

"I don't see how it's possible," said Emil. "None of us can agree on anything. Don't expect us to work together."

Roderich straightened his back defiantly. "I believe you can. And you _will_. We don't have many options left."

"L't's d' 't," said Berwald.

"I think it'd be awesome," Mathias. "I've hardly had the chance to show off my strength."

"Shut up, Dane. We are doing no such thing."

"Aww! Why not?"

"You need to understand," Roderich persisted.

"Yeah, that's right! I'm the King and what I say, goes. We're in this."

"Why are you being so helpful, _now_ of all times?" Lukas said. "It's a waste of our effort. We'll be overrun in seconds."

"You don't know that," Roderich said. "Just . . . come with me. Once you're filled in properly, then you can decide whether participate. Give me the benefit of the doubt. You can leave afterwards; you don't have to ever take part in it again. Truthfully, we're desperate. We need everyone we can get."

The Nordics all glanced at each other.

Lukas spoke up, "We'll consider it. Say we do agree. What do we have to do?"

Roderich gestured out the door. "First of all: to hurry. We don't have much time left."

* * *

"Are we going to get involved now?"

"No, aru. We must wait for the perfect moment."

"But I'm bored."

"Go grab your firecrackers. Have them at the ready for when I say so, aru."

". . . Can I bomb England's room?"

"Didn't you already do that?"

"Can I bomb Yong Soo's room then?"

"Absolutely not."

"What about—"

"_Hong._"

"But—"

"NO."

"Okay."

* * *

Once Roderich and the Nordics arrived at the Italians' room, the rest of the battle brigade had already been notified of the plans. Antonio was lecturing the each of them on their role, while Alfred stood by inspecting his rack of weapons.

So he _did_ have a large arsenal of weapons. Now where did he get all that anyway? It wasn't as if an entire black market existed right under the hotel . . .

"There you are," spoke the Spaniard, spotting the newest additions to their rag-tag team. "Basically we're sending you all out to kill every monster that comes into your line of sight."

Denmark nodded. "That's simple enough. Let's get going."

"Wait up," said Alfred, holding up a massive assault rifle. "I've got to equip you guys first."

The American rummaged around a bag and tossed each of them a walkie-talkie.

"It's to stay in contact," he explained. "Every one of you should have one now, including Lovi and my snipers."

"So that's why you took so long," Antonio mumbled. "I thought you were stuffing your face with hamburgers in the kitchen."

Emil raised his hand. "By the way, where are the kitchens?"

"Oh, there's just on the first level, past the director's office and behind the caf—"

"Focus," Germany ordered.

Everyone focused.

"I grabbed anyone I could see and had them set up a post on each balcony with one of my special snipers," Alfred said. "It has a multi-targeting system that allows you to lock on a dozens targets at one time. It takes a while to reload, but at least every country is helping."

"That was surprisingly initiative of you, Alfred," said Arthur.

"Oh, right, and I've managed to bring down a couple of weapons that each of you are accustomed to. They're not the same, but they'll have to do."

"My axe!" Mathais cried, holding it up in the light.

Ludwig naturally grabbed a BMFG.

Most of the older generation of nations obtained a sword, but they also stashed a pistol away just in case. Switzerland didn't even need Alfred's weapon rack.

"One more thing," said Alfred. "I also got several people to set up automatic targeting machine guns around the perimetre of this building, and also inside the lobby, in case the Frost Men get too close. As long you have the walkie-talkie on you, the guns' lasers will track the radio frequency it emits, and you won't get shot. Don't drop it, okay? Or you're screwed. Better yet, don't even let the FM in an eighty yard radius from these babies."

"Yessir," said Kiku, saluting.

"Man over or I'll . . ." Vash sighed. "What's the point?"

"Now that that is over with," said Antonio, "we'll be needing three nations per—"

"FUCK!"

They regarded the source of the angry curse. It was a certain door, where a certain table was being used to build a certain transmitter.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK—!"

The door flew open. Romano burst into the living room.

"I need tape!" His hair was singed and smoking. "Anyone have tape, goddammit!"

France waved a finger and conjured a roll of duct tape. He tossed it to Lovino.

The Italian rushed back into the room and slammed the door. What followed was the sound of mechanical whirring.

"Ah." Antonio appeared sheepish. "It seems Lovi's been having some problems with the blueprint schematics, so he won't be finishing the transmitter anytime soon—"

"NO THANKS TO YOU, _BASTARDO_!"

"—therefore it looks like all of you need to work extra hard today."

"Don't worry," said Russia. "All the more fun, _da_?"

"Also we'll be using codenames," said Antonio.

"Why?"

"Just because. Like I was saying before Roma rudely interrupted, we'll be needing three nations per side. As in north, south, east and west. According to each of your battle statistics, we've concluded that facing the north side shall be Denmark, Norway and Iceland—"

"Hey, hey, hold on," said Mathais. "We thought all five of us were going to work together."

"Well then, things wouldn't work out. The numbers will be divided, and one side will be less heavily defended than the other. We can't have that."

"But—"

"It's okay, Den," said Tino. "Berwald and I will be just fine. Who are we with?"

"Switzerland. You'll be on the east side."

Vash cocked his gun. "I've no objections."

"Next," Antonio announced, "we have Germany, Prussia and Japan on the west side. You three shall be guarding the entrance. That's why you, Ludwig, are positioned there. You shall command the various assortment of . . . _toys_, as Alfred likes to call them.

"Lastly we have England, France and Russia on the south side, which is basically the side with more monsters."

"I have no quarrel," said Arthur. "I've been meaning to inflict some payback." He turned his head slowly towards France. "But regarding the subject of working with _this_ son of a bitch again, I'd rather not—"

"I concur," said Francis.

Ivan stepped forward and gripped each of their heads so hard, their skulls would have caved in if it hadn't been for the fact they were nations. "Let's all work peacefully with each other, **_da_**?"

"_D-da_," they squeaked.

"Great," said Antonio. "Glad you all understand. I'll leave each team to their own decisions on who should be facing the FM first. Right now I'll be helping Roma."

"And I'll be sniping with the others," said Alfred. "Antonio, have Lovi radio me once he's done the transmitter so I can bring it to Mattie."

"Will do."

"_Ja_." Ludwig glanced around at his comrades. "You heard him. Let's get down there and set up our battle plan."

"If any of you have a problem or have something to report, just radio in to me," said Antonio. "If that's all, then good luck everyone. Hopefully after all this is over, we'll still be alive."

The nations started out the door.

"Do you mind if I take up a sniping post, also?" Roderich asked Alfred. "I feel rather useless otherwise."

"How well can you shoot?"

"Well enough."

Alfred handed him a gun. "Good to have you aboard, Roddy."

"Rod . . . dy . . . ? I don't underst—"

Alfred hefted up his own sniper. It was bigger than the rest, with several impractical barrels jutting out the side.

"That actually fires?"

"You wouldn't believe it," said Alfred, smiling broadly. "Right. Head into that room over there. It should have a balcony. I'll be taking this one."

Roderich complied and moved over to his respective post. Alfred stepped onto his balcony and sat down in a plastic chair, locking his gun up with its stand, to lessen the gun's recoil when it fires.

"America, ready," he spoke into the radio.

A few dozen other voices crackled through his end, announcing their own participation. Alfred grinned.

"_I've got another page from Elizabeta,_" came Lovino's voice. "_Sh__e says the FM will arrive in less than six minutes. You should be able to spot them now._"

Alfred squinted into his sniper scope. Indeed there was a writhing mass approaching quickly in his direction.

"3.6 miles until in firing range," he reported, stilling scanning with his scope.

"_In kilometres, America_."

"Sorry. That ain't my style."

"_While everyone else uses the metric system, you've got—_"

The radio crackled again, announcing the presence of several other channels.

"_Switzerland, Sweden, Finland—we're set up._"

"_The Awesome Me, West and Japan are ready too_!"

"_Denmark, Norway, Iceland—we're locked and loaded._"

"_England, France, Russia—better not shoot us by accident, Alfred_."

America scoffed. "Who do you think I am?"

"_Four minutes_," said Lovino. "_How long until the automatic machine guns fire?_"

"At least another two miles," said Alfred. "Dudes, I can totally see Ludwig from here." He leaned over the railing. "HEY! GERMANY, YO! IT'S ME!"

Ludwig turned and gave a small wave back.

Alfred sent him a thumbs-up. He could see that Prussia was set up to encounter the FM first, then Japan, and then Germany. They were each standing at a quarter mile distance from each other.

"Hey, Lovi," he said. "Any word about Mattie and Feli's progress up there?"

"_They're doing last minute calibrations. It's me that needs to hurry up . . . Goddammit, bastard, I told you specifically not to touch that—give it!_"

"_Aw, Roma, you're so impatient! If you took your time to explain what I need to be doing, then I wouldn't make any mistakes._"

"_That's the point, _idiota_! We DON'T have time. Now shut up and hand me the fucking screw!_"

"_Fine, fine, jeez . . ._"

"_By the way, America, three minutes._"

For some reason, Alfred was having anxiety issues. Was he worried about his performance? The battle hadn't even started yet! Why was he feeling so nervous all of a sudden?

_Because we could all die today. One mistake—from anyone—and we're dead.  
_

The radio buzzed. "_Don't worry, Alfred. You can leave it to us._"

"England? How did you—?"

"_Call it a parent's instinct. Hold on . . . I can see them now._"

"You're on the front lines?!"

Arthur laughed. "_Don't worry about it. I can handle myself._"

"_Two minutes_."

"Arther, there's so much I want to say—"

"_What are you going on about, lad? We're getting out of this alive—all of us. We're not leaving anyone behind._"

"_I second that,_" said Gilbert. "_These Frost Men are so unawesome. By the laws of Awesome, the Unawesome must fall. That's how things work._"

"_I third that! Wait, does that work? Third . . . third . . . Hey, Nor, is third a word?_"

"_No, stupid Dane._"

"_Hmm_ . . ."

Alfred took a deep breath. Everyone was so calm. Was he the only one feeling this way? Feeling . . . so unhero-like?

He switched off safety.

No, he decided. Everyone else was doing their best to support each other. He would do the same.

"_One minut__e. Last chance for preparations, and then there's no turning back._"

Alfred peered into his scope. _I can do this,_ he thought. _Right. I'm the United States of America, after all. There's nothing I can't do!_

"_Fourty-five seconds._"

The Frost Men were in firing range. Alfred locked on to the few that appeared first.

"_Thirty._"

He could see Gilbert readying himself too. The Prussian was wielding duo blades.

"_Twenty-five._"

The sky was already beginning to glow orange.

"_Twenty._"

"Hold your fire," he spoke to his snipers. "Hold it steady."

Alfred tested his vision a second time. He pushed his glasses to his forehead. They fell askew onto his nose. His patience thin, he tucked his glasses into his jacket pocket.

"_Ten._"

"Hold."

"_Nine._"

"Hold!"

"_Eight._"

"Not yet . . ."

"_Seven_."

"A little closer . . ."

"_Six_."

"Come on!"

"_Five_."

His finger itched to pull the trigger. But it wasn't time yet. Just a little more.

Alfred shut an eye, a slow smile creeping across his face.

"_. . . One._"

The city skyline erupted into explosive gunfire.

* * *

**Busy, busy, busy. As always. The next few chapters will be havoc, for me and you guys. It's just all over the place. I have the events planned, but I don't know in what order they should come in . . . Sigh. It's hard. So much stress, and add that with school, you become brain-dead. **

**Thanks for reading, as always! Hope you enjoyed it. Amerca's POV was fun to write. I'm hoping Hong Kong will show off his firecracker bombing skills, but . . . We'll see how things turn out.  
**


	21. XXI: Brigade

The next few minutes consisted of pure combat. It was chaos, to put it simply.

Alfred's snipers were doing more of the taking out. It was the nations down there fighting man-to-man that drew the Frost Men away from the hotel. The creatures were more intently focused on the closest nation, making it easier for the snipers to target them.

Alfred reloaded the next magazine. He watched Gilbert fight the FM. The Prussian was a demon when he got serious—he was as awesome as he said he was. His skills were a little bit rusty after centuries of no conflict, but wielding those two duo swords, even Alfred had to admit he was shaking in his shoes.

He couldn't observe the east side of the hotel, but he could spot some action from the north and south. Denmark was all the way up at the front lines. Afterwards came Norway and then Iceland.

To his right, Alfred made out England in a swarm of marble white, a magical barrier protecting him from harm. The Brit was doing some sort of tranquilizing spell that froze the Frost Men in their place. A few got across him, but Russia made sure they didn't pass an inch over his threshold.

He wondered what was passing through each of their minds at the moment.

* * *

Gilbert was having the time of his life.

One nearly got him on the shoulder at first, but two minutes in and he remembered all the combat abilities he'd obtained over the couple years he'd been alive. He felt the way he did all those centuries ago when he raided on Turkey. It was exhilarating.

Of course, he knew his own priorities. The snipers were doing an awesome job aiding him in his fight.

It became sort of a mantra to him after a while: _spin, stab, parry, block, spin, stab, parry, block_ . . .

He'd realized that these Frost Men had a distinct fighting pattern to them. The ones he was fighting couldn't possibly be the ones deployed to kill _him_. In fact, they were easy to defeat.

Gilbert stabbed at their mouths with no problem. They towered a few feet above him, but once you got them close enough to bite your face off, with their mouths open, it was easy to mark the X and follow through.

He was grateful for being ambidextrous. Most of the nations were, but others were strictly one-handed only—something to do with the average population being _this_ handed or whatever.

He didn't know how long he'd been doing this for, but fives minutes after, he clashed swords/claws with a Frost Man that was a little bit more stubborn than the rest.

Gilbert knew that this Frost Man here had been the one sent to kill him.

He let the rest of the FM past for Kiku to deal with. He had only eyes for this one in particular.

* * *

The plan at first was to let a few Frost Men in for Russia to deal with.

This was Arthur's role. He was to freeze the majority and let the rest past for Ivan to defeat. But partway through his spell casting, he suffered a severe drain. The spell switched off and a swarm pounced at him.

Thankfully his barrier was still active, but the paralyses spell had been completely negated. By what, he wasn't sure. But right now, this wasn't the time nor place to fathom such things.

Arthur slashed at a FM blocking his way with his pirate sword, and whirled around. "IVAN! MY SPELL'S BEEN BLOCKED! I CAN'T FREEZE THEM ANYMORE!"

Ivan didn't reply. Either he couldn't hear, or he was perfectly fine with bashing more heads in.

"Dammit," he cursed.

He had to get creative.

There was obviously more of these monsters lingering in the shadows of the buildings somewhere. They weren't completely stupid; they knew not to run down the street and announce their presence so openly.

There had to be more further away from the hotel, waiting for the right moment, the right point in time where the hotel was at its weakest defense—then they would strike.

Arthur fought his way through the remaining FM and let the rest pass him. He started down the street, clutching at his abdomen. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling his power drain wasn't just a coincidence. He also felt a pain at his side that wouldn't go away.

_Something's wrong_.

* * *

Emil was worried. He stood nearest to the hotel, having his brother in front of him and Mathias at first.

As always, the Dane fought expertly. Emil often thought the huge axe was impractical, but it got things done quickly. Instead of killing the FM through the mouth, he chopped off all the sharp parts of the monster's body. That left the FM feeling confused and weak.

The de-clawed group of Frost Men staggered towards Lukas, who finished them off with a stab through the head.

But something else was nagging Emil. He could feel it in his gut, a certain emptiness that should be filled . . . but wasn't.

Emil spared a glance behind him. On the east side, he could hear the machine guns firing with all they had. Were Berwald and Tino okay?

Well, Mathias had things handled. He could leave for a bit and they wouldn't notice, right? Just to see if Sweden and Finland were all right.

Emil ran across the sidewalk and turned the corner. Immediately the empty feeling in his gut deepened. He gripped his sword until his nails dug into his skin.

The east side had been completely overrun.

Up above on the hotel wall, a few dozen FM were scaling up the side. The snipers were trying their best to get them off, but their guns were more equipped for short-ranged combat. Some carried knives or hand-guns, but they weren't enough.

_Where are Berwald and Tino?_

Better question was, what the hell was Switzerland doing at this time?!

Emil set out to search for the Swiss. He was at the front lines; he should have been able to protect the others! Why wasn't he doing his job properly?

But the journey was difficult. He had to fend off several FM on his own. He immediately regretted the decision of veering off from his duties. He should be defending the north side with Mathias and Lukas.

Instead he was here, looking for missing nations.

He risked a glance behind him. Most of the Frost Men hadn't really bothered with the snipers. Overall, they ignored the nations. Supposedly, these FM weren't the ones deployed to specifically target these nations.

Soon the snipers began to realize they weren't in danger and went back to shooting what FM they could target.

The rest of the FM on the hotel were still scaling their way to the top with no problem.

There's no time to worry about them!

Emil headed off deeper into the city. Hopefully, wherever Vash, Berwald and Tino had gone, they were still alive.

* * *

"Uh . . . Feli. We've got a problem."

"Ve? What is it, Elizabeta?"

Hungary was leaning over the east side of the hotel. "It's rather difficult to explain how it has come to be, but . . . we've got incoming."

"I knew something was going to go wrong," said Matthew.

"You jinxed it!" Feliciano accused. "So what do we do? If they come up here—"

Matthew tossed him Alfred's gun. "Take this and start shooting them off."

"What?! I can't aim properly from this distance!"

"Doesn't matter. As long as you make them fall off, that'll give us more time for the transmitter's completion."

Feliciano stared at the gun as if it was a foreign object from space. He gulped and _Ve'd_ meekly.

"I will assist," said Elizabeta. "If one gets on the roof, I will stab them. For now, do your best in shooting them, Feli."

Feliciano's hands shook as he handled the gun. In the end, he had to settle for two hands.

_Aim and fire_, he mentally chanted. _That's easy, Veneziano. You can do this._

Matthew busied himself with the last wire. Immediately an idea sprang into his mind.

"Feli, Elizabeta, buy me some time."

"What do you think I'm doing?!" Feliciano screamed, firing the gun. A few times the bullets bounced off the railings and missed the FM completely, but he got the hang of it soon enough and began shooting the things through the head.

"What are you going to do?" Elizabeta asked Matthew.

The Canadian scoured the roof, taking note of the amount of cables and metal lying around.

"Well . . . I'm actually hoping on electrocuting this building."

". . . Matthew. Stupid ideas is your brother's job."

"I'm serious," Matthew stated. "Alfred's stupidity is contagious. But it's so stupid, that it just might work."

Elizabeta sighed. "Okay. What do I have to do?"

* * *

"_Alfred . . . czzzzsshhhhhh . . . America, come in._"

Alfred held the radio to his mouth. "Yeah, what?"

"_You might want to come inside and see this._"

"Ugh, fine. Just give me a second."

Alfred engaged the automatic setting for his sniper. That's what he loved about this gun. The sheer size of it meant it was programmed with a bunch of different commands. Ergo, he could pwn stuff without him being around to pwn stuff.

He made his way inside, where Lovino and Antonio were waiting for him.

"You done yet?"

Antonio made a reluctant face. "Er, we—that is, er—"

"We have a problem," Lovino said.

"Don't we always?" Alfred sighed.

"This time is different." He stepped aside to reveal a basketball-sized, antique diving helmet-shaped contraption with a weird whirring bullhorn attached to the top of it.

"The fuck is that?"

Lovino scowled. Apparently he didn't appreciate Alfred's response.

"This is the stupid transmitter, stupid American. Unfortunately, it's too heavy for either of us to lift, so we're calling you, a obvious superpower, to carry this stupid thing up to Matthew and my stupid little brother."

"Too heavy?" Alfred stepped forward and tested how he would carry it. "Are you sure you're just not strong enough, Lovi?"

"Do not question my strength!" Lovino snapped.

"Yes," Antonio said, nodding sagely. "You best not."

"I just don't like using it all the time, that's all . . ."

"Why so defensive, bro? Man, Italians really are useless."

Lovino pushed his sleeves up. "That's it. I am going to _pomodoro roba incollare la tua camicia e appendere fuori al sole. Vedi come ti piace! Cazzo di bastardo!_"

Alfred waved his arms. "Ooh, I'm _so_ scared."

Antonio face palmed. "Roma, if you need a lesson in insulting, I'd be happy to help. Also, try to keep your language consistent."

"JUST GET THE DAMNED THING TO THE ROOF!"

Alfred laughed obnoxiously as he hobbled out the door. Man, this thing _was_ heavy. He was carrying at least half a dozen bowling balls, all packed into the size of one.

"You better do your job," he told the weird helmet thingy. "Or you're going to have the whole world's death on your conscience."

* * *

**These are just tiny little snippets of what's happening altogether. Oh yes, and what Romano said up there, it goes something like this: "I am going to stuff tomatoes down your shirt and hang you out in the sun. See how you like that! Fucking bastard!"  
**

**And yes, he really does need to work on his insults.  
**

**Next chapter: England**


	22. XXII: England

Arthur turned the corner and stopped dead.

The pain throbbed harder.

A government hummer vehicle was turned over on its side. Bodies littered the street. Because of the positions of the buildings around the avenue, it was cast in a permanent darkness.

Even in the limited light, it was obvious not all the people had gotten away.

_No . . . They weren't supposed to target civilians._

Arthur sprang forward, looking for any sign of life.

Everywhere he looked, there were men lying in their own pool of blood, their eyes forced open to see the nightmares that slaughtered them. They were all wearing uniforms.

But that didn't make the situation any better.

_Only uniforms_, Arthur thought. _No civilians, but that's still not good. It means—_

Someone calling his name interrupted his thoughts. Arthur cautiously moved towards the source of the sound.

"Thank goodness . . ." exhaled the voice.

Arthur fell to his knees and stared at Officer Payne's unmoving body. "W-why . . . ? You were s-supposed to b-be_—_"

"I don't have much time left . . ." said Jeffrey. "So, please—"

"No. Don't say that."

"It's true." Jeffrey tried to smile, but got cut off with a pained grimace. "You know . . . I can't feel my legs anymore."

Arthur gathered the dying man into his arms. "No . . . no. Don't speak. Save your energy. Hold on; I'll get you back to—"

"I want you know that . . . it's been a great service working for you, sir. Can I just say how proud I am of you, Mr. Kirkland?"

"You fool . . . you're English, for God's sake."

Jeffrey nodded. "My country really is great." His eyes began to fade out. He stared off into the distance as if he couldn't see what was in front of him anymore. "So thank you . . . I am . . ."

"NO!" Arthur gripped Jeffrey's body. "You are not dying here! I won't let you! If you die, what am I supposed to tell your superior? Your family? What am I supposed to tell Elizabeth, that the best of UNIT are dead?!"

Jeffrey's eyes drifted closed.

Arthur slapped his face. "You are not dying on me! Jeffrey, you need to tell me—what happened with the civilians?!"

"All safe," Jeffrey murmured. "But . . . when we attacked those things to protect the people, they fought back. I suppose . . . they just thought we were in the way."

_So those things kill anything that prevents them from reaching the nations._

Arthur couldn't prevent the sob that penetrated his throat. "Jeffrey, Lord so help me, if you die, I'm going to kill you."

Jeffrey started to laugh, but broke off in a coughing fit. "What use is there to prolong my death? My body is useless, it can never be mended. I'd just be a hindrance. Worst of all, I would never be able to face my men back at base. I can't even do my job anymore . . ."

"Then let me heal you," Arthur said. "Please. It's the least I can do."

Arthur reached forward and placed his palm on the man's chest, but Jeffrey grabbed at him hand and held it away.

"No. Don't . . . waste your energy. You need it . . . for the fight. Tell everyone that I'm sorry."

"Jeffrey, don't you dare argue with me—"

A collective of growls emanated from right above his head. Arthur looked up and spotted a dozen gangly limbs hanging off the side of the building.

"Make Britain proud," Jeffrey said.

"No, no, you can't . . . Jeffrey, I'm so sorry. I should've sent you all away at the start. I shouldn't have given you the order. Please, just—" Arthur's voice got small. "Please come back."

_It's all my fault. This happened to him because I issued the order. If we left everyone to their own devices, no one would be dead. If we should have just told them to leave these Frost Men alone . . . If _I_ would've had the decency to see this coming, we could've prevented this._

And now . . . Now Officer Payne was paying the price.

"No matter what . . ." Jeffrey gasped out. "No matter what happens tonight . . . Arthur— No . . . England. No one blames you."

One last shudder, and Jeffrey promptly passed away.

Arthur stared in disbelief at Jeffrey's corpse. His breathing got faster and faster, just fueling the inner rage building from deep within him. Then his eyes began to glow with a hungry vengeance.

"SO NOW WHAT?!" he shouted to the sky. "HUH?! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?!"

What was the damn point of all this? What was their intention on targeting nations?! What did they benefit out of this?!

Killing innocent lives was going too far . . . Arthur had enough. They crossed the line, and they were going to pay for it.

Did these Frost Men want to see his rage so badly? Did they want him to get _truly_ angry?

If they wanted to see his full-blown fury, then he would give them just that.

"_I am going to kill you_," he snarled at the Frost Men. "_And when I am done with you, I will fucking resurrect you and kill you again. __I will give you a reason to fear me._"

An unearthly wind swept through the streets. Arthur lifted his spellbook.

Magical energy exploded from within him and washed over the Frost Men like a wave, a thirty story high tower of static energy that could be seen from thirteen miles away. It reached the skies and spread outwards, not harming any form of civilization, but effectively erasing the creatures from existence.

Arthur could feel it. All the voices and hopes of his people, welling up from deep within his soul. It gave him power, and a reason to pass on judgement to the accused.

He would never forgive these devils for what they did to his people. _His_ people. Jeffrey Payne, and all those officers.

To nations, a human's life was insignificant, but not any less precious. Arthur was proud of his people. If it came down to total annihilation versus his survival, he would give his life in order to save them. To see one of his people sacrifice his own life for _his_ sake . . .

"_I will never forgive you_."

They could go ahead and ask for redemption. What happened to the world was of no consequence to England. He would make those bastards _pay._

* * *

A light momentarily distracted Alfred from his mission.

He backtracked from the elevators and stared out the southern windows.

A large tower of energy spiked up among shorter buildings, and the power level continued to rise.

Alfred noted with apathy that these Frost Men were screwed.

"You assholes went and did it this time . . . Don't you know you should never make Artie mad? And boy, he hasn't been _this_ mad for a long, _long_ time. It was nice knowing you."

He also noted with a bit more of concern that the magical level was higher than last time's . . . If Arthur didn't stop the release, he could potentially drain out his life source and go into a state of nation-coma, which was basically going dormant for a super long time.

On the other hand, the more Arthur continued to release the energy, the less control he'd have over his magic, and pretty soon he wouldn't be able to stop himself at all.

The last time, England nearly wiped young Albion off the map.

America wanted to rush out there and stop his older brother himself, but he had other important things to do. Get rid of all the Frost Men, and Arthur would probably start to see sense again.

Otherwise . . .

He didn't really want to think about the _Otherwise_.

* * *

"Alfred's coming up with the transmitter!"

"About time," Feliciano said shakily. "I can't keep shooting these things forever!"

And he was right.

Feliciano readied the next shot and released an empty chamber.

"_Merda! _Matthew, it's done! What are we going to do now?"

_Dammit_, Matthew thought. _I should have brought extra ammo with me._

"It's your turn, Elizabeta! Kill them as they come up here. And Feli—" Matthew tossed him a wrench. "Go knock some heads."

Feliciano nodded bravely, though Matthew could tell he was terrified out of his wits.

_Al, you better get up here by the time I'm done wiring this together. Electrocuting these things won't kill them; it'll only buy us time, and not much time._

"Matthew!" Feliciano shouted again, starting to go into hysterics. "They're getting closer!"

"Hold them off for as long as you can!"

Matthew slammed shut the power panel. He held up the thickest electrical cord he could find and split it in half.

_This has to work._

"Feli, get back!" Elizabeta yelled, as the first Frost Man clambered up the side.

She pulled her sword back and stabbed it through the face. The Frost Man fell back against one of its kin and both of them tumbled off the side of the building. Feliciano was desperately thonking the monsters on their heads.

"Anytime, Matthew!" Elizabeta screamed.

Matthew glanced at the wire-work he put together for the transmitter. He put a lot of effort into constructing the circuit, and now he was going to destroy it completely . . .

He shut his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

A strong swing swept over him and nearly knocked him backward. Matthew opened his eyes and gazed out over the city. A large column of magical energy spiraled out clearly amongst the smaller buildings.

_Arthur . . . What could have happened that made him this angry?_

"MATTHEW!"

At first he thought Elizabeta was shouting at him again to hurry up, but when he turned around to respond back, a white blur leaped at him from behind. Matthew whirled on it in time and stuck the huge electric cord against the Frost Man.

Shocks arced up the creature's insides, frying its nervous system and rendering it paralyzed. Some of the sparks actually connected with Matthew hands and travelled down his own body.

But the part that took the blunt of the shock was his wound.

Matthew dropped the cord and collapsed on to his knees, holding his arm delicately. Arthur had stitched up the skin, but the broken muscles and nerves hadn't been healed yet.

He could smell cooked meat. Matthew tried not to gag.

"Matthew!" Feliciano shrieked.

"I'm fine!" Matthew bit out. "Just keep doing what you're doing—don't worry about me."

Matthew struggled to his feet, taking note of the amount of black dancing in his vision. He needed to hurry this up.

"Elizabeta, Feliciano—get over here!"

"But the Frost Men—!"

"Leave them! Get close to me and let them swarm around us. Make sure they're all on the roof!"

Elizabeta pushed one creature off the side and picked her way back to Matthew. Feliciano ran to them, holding his wrench out like he was seriously going to use it.

"You two have rubber soles on your feet, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Matthew groaned weakly. "Oh, I don't want to do this because I'll have to make the circuit all over again . . . but we don't have any other options."

He pressed the two cords to the ground and let the electricity run wild on the metal roof. The gathered Frost Men twitched and flailed and fell limp onto the ground. The electricity travelled onto the metal railings and staircases on the sides of the hotel and shocked whatever touched them.

Slowly but surely, the FM began collapsing, some even flying down the sides of the hotel.

"Don't touch the ground," Matthew warned. "The charge will be active for a while . . ."

"Will they stay down?" Feliciano asked.

"Not for long, but it will have to do. Elizabeta, can you help Feli by tossing these things off the side? That'd be helpful, thanks."

"What about you?"

Matthew glanced back at his ruined circuit, then at his equally ruined arm. "I'll be fixing the circuit. It'll be tough with one arm, but I think it'll be enough time for Alfred to get up here with the transmitter."

What he was really worried about, though, was England's rampage. If the Englishman couldn't stop himself in time, he might just wipe this whole city off the map.

_Hurry up, Alfred. There's no guarantee that some FM haven't made it into the hotel's interior to escape the electricity. If that's true, then you're in a load of trouble._

* * *

So these Frost Men did have a conscience . . . of some sort, anyway.

Arthur was surprised at first when these monsters tried to _negotiate_ with him. They struck him as the silent type, not speaking to those they deemed worthless. Later on, he simply couldn't care less.

**We . . . We cannot . . . **they growled. **We . . . cannot . . . attack . . .**

"Well, that's interesting," Arthur said. "Because I really don't give a fuck."

**Mother . . . is still . . . in . . . in . . . you . . . We cannot attack . . . Mother . . .**

"I have no idea what you're talking about. There is no one named _Mother_ in me, and I'm still pissed at you all for what you did to my men. There is a thin line between killing and murdering, and you've just crossed that line. Now prepare to pay for it."

**Cannot kill . . . Moth—**

Arthur didn't give a chance for them to finish. He released another wave of magic and shattered them.

He continued down the street, bent on destroying every single last of these filthy things.

* * *

"This wasn't the plan," Francis spoke to Russia through his radio. "What the hell does he think he's doing?"

"_I don't know. I figure you would've seen him like this before._"

Francis started to shake his head. Then he froze.

"This was . . ." he began cautiously. "This happened before, once. It's a hazy memory—maybe I hadn't been there personally to witness it. All I know is if England isn't stopped, we're all dead."

"_But there are reports that he's destroying only these monsters. Everything else is still intact._"

"It's not _him_ that's going to kill us, Ivan. You can feel it, can't you? The sheer _gravity_ of his power. It'll crush us."

". . . _Feel what_?"

Francis stared at the radio. "Right. You're an exception."

Well, Russia could take care of things on his own. He was Russia after all. Francis set out into the streets, tracing Arthur's trail of destruction. He was going to hunt the Englishman down and knock him over the side of the head for being such a moron.

Yes. All in a day's work.

* * *

**England is a very proud person. When his pride is hurt, you'd best be wary. And yeah, Jeffrey Payne's dead. He was actually an impressionable OC that I didn't want to kill off.  
**

**Thanks for reading! Yay for fast updates! ...because I don't have a life.**

**Next chapter: Breached  
**


	23. XXIII: Breached

"Are we getting involved now?"

"Hong, how many times do I have to tell you this? We will—"

A shrill scream pierced the air, coming from the direction of right outside their door.

Hong Kong held up a few firecrackers. "_Now_ are we going to get involved?"

Yao sighed. "I don't see how we have a choice. They're already in the building._"_

He was getting too old for this.

* * *

Alfred wasn't having a great day.

Was it just him, or were the elevators extra slow?

_Come on, come on, hurry the hell up!_

Alfred decided to drop the transmitter, making use of the ascent to stretch out his arms. It was seriously giving him muscle cramps. The elevator seemed to be having a jolly time wasting his life.

And, as anyone knew at this point, things _always_ got worse.

About halfway up to the roof, the elevator groaned to a halt.

"Goddammit," Alfred swore. "Now what?"

He tried pressing the emergency button, but then he realized no one was going to come to his rescue because there were no staff in the building. Next he resorted to kicking the damn dashboard, but that still didn't work.

Plan B.

America grabbed the edge of the doors and tried to pry them open using sheer physical power. He only managed to pull away a few inches, but that was enough to see the chaos going on in the hallway.

The Frost Men had gotten inside.

How, he didn't know. He made sure that the hotel's defense was top-notch before starting the operation. Unless one of the ground defenders was being lazy, his plan was completely foolproof!

Nations were running from left and right, and occasionally a Frost Man would pass by chasing them.

Alfred pulled harder on the doors. There was no way a dumb elevator door could hinder him, the United States of America! He was the strongest of the strongest, he was—

The doors slid back and slammed against the wall. Alfred panted with overexertion.

But it was no time to rest! He heaved up the transmitter and rushed outside.

Most likely all the elevators were inoperative. He wouldn't take the chance. There was no other way but the stairs.

"Romano, dammit," he spoke into the radio. "Answer me already!"

The radio crackled. "_Yeah, what, bastard?_"

"The Frost Men are inside!"

A moment of silence.

"_What._"

"You heard me! They somehow got inside. Don't ask me how, because I don't know! You need to check whether all the sides of the hotel are protected. There's been a breach of some sort—"

"_Slow down. Why does it sound like you're running?_"

"The elevators are offline!"

"_Non puoi dire sul serio._"

"Way serious, bro!"

Alfred heard cursing from the other side.

"_Make sure you get the transmitter to the top, America, no matter what happens. I'm going to get to the bottom of this._"

He swore he could hear the clicking of safety being switched off. "Wait, what are you going to do?"

"_It's pretty obvious. Romano, out._"

There was nothing he could do about that. Alfred kept running.

He counted the steps along the way. It was as if there was no end to the running. He must have made up seven flights of stairs when he heard screaming again. And . . .

Were those fireworks?

If you have ever set off fireworks in a closed, cramped space like a stairwell, then . . . Well, it's not fun. Alfred would've ran straight into the explosion if it hadn't been for another nation stopping him.

"I think you should be going the other way," Hong Kong told him.

"No," Alfred insisted. "I've got to get this thing to the roof."

"Just a moment. There are Frost Men up there."

America shifted his weight impatiently. "How long will this take?"

"Not long. Long enough for Yao to deal with them."

"You mean China?"

"Hn."

The fireworks soon flickered out and Hong Kong gave Alfred the all-clear.

"We will take care of these things from the inside," Hong said. "You make sure you do what you have to do."

Alfred nodded and sprinted up the stairs, two steps at a time. He wasn't going to waste the time that Hong Kong and China bought for him.

* * *

Before America radioed in, Lovino had gotten a strange feeling inside his gut.

He automatically glanced upwards.

"What is it, Roma?"

"Feliciano's in trouble."

"Huh? How can you be so sure?"

"I just can. It's not like you would know."

"So what then? What's happening up there?"

"Something bad."

Antonio sighed. "Be a little more vague, please."

When afterwards Alfred informed them of the breach, Lovino was a hundred percent sure about what happened.

"We have an unprotected side," Lovino said, twirling his gun. "There's obviously a lot of commotion and panic. We need to calm the people down and get them back to their posts, otherwise this hotel will be swarmed and we'd be killed from the inside out."

"So you're not going to shoot them."

"I'm going to shoot some_thing_. Let's give them a chance to plead for their lives, shall we?"

"The people or the Frost Men?"

Lovino swung the door open and strolled out.

"Both."

* * *

Germany was having a grand old time being bored out of his mind. Seriously, he had nothing to do. His brother Gilbert was killing everything in sight, Kiku was a freaking . . . well, he was a freaking ninja, and he was stuck here as a last resort, sitting on a fire hydrant carving a wooden dinosaur, while the machine guns fired away in the background.

He needed something to do already.

When he saw England going berserk, he considered going over and saving him, but then again, France and Russia were closer and England was more of their priority.

He had seen so many wars, started so many wars, that all this was nothing new to him. It was like an everyday part of life.

He was free right now. He could walk on over and start doing what he came down here to do—kill these Frost Men. And he had to admit he was looking forward to it.

"_Czzzzzzzzzhhhhhhshhhhhh . . . __If anyone can hear this . . ._" His radio crackled and went out.

Ludwig adjusted the frequency.

"_There's been a breach in the hotel. If you can hear this, and you're unoccupied, we need all the backup we can get. The east side as been swarmed. The people are in a state of panic. There are creatures inside the hotel—we'd be taken in a few minutes. So please—_

"_Give me the damn radio, _bastardo_!_"

There was a bit of disturbance from the other side, and then: "_Right, what he said, except we've got a fe__w gone MIA. The reported so far are Switzerland, Sweden, Finland and Iceland. There may be more, but we're not sure with everyone running around._"

"The east side, huh?" Ludwig muttered to himself.

Switzerland, Sweden and Finland . . . The whole team protecting the east side had gone missing. That wasn't good.

Three nations missing, England gone berserk, Team North missing Iceland . . . It was only their side, the west, that was still in a good condition.

"_Do what you have to do, West_."

Ludwig glanced up. Gilbert was grinning at him.

"_Bruder . . ._"

Ludwig knew that Gilbert was still dealing with that troublesome Frost Man. Although his brother was very good when it came down to swordplay, the Kingdom of Prussia had fallen long ago.

What he was worried about was if Gilbert had the resolve to finish the fight.

_What am I talking about? Of course he does._

Ludwig got up and ran to the east face of the hotel. It was a longer run, because he was on the opposite side, but he stopped by Team North to see how they were doing.

Both Denmark and Norway appeared dejected. Ludwig could see it in the way they fought.

The loss of three of their family must have struck them hard. At least they knew to get rid of all the enemies before putting down their weapons and going to search for them.

And as he suspected, the east side was in utter turmoil.

Up on the balconies, the nations' posts had been abandoned. There was a collection of Frost Men lying on the bottom of the hotel. A few rose and began climbing the walls again.

Ludwig shielded his eyes as the hotel's exterior lit up. Electricity sparked at the top and arced downwards through the metal staircases, once again forcing the Frost Men to submit. They tumbled to the bottom and lay unmoving.

All around him the buildings' lights blinked, flickered off and then on again.

_They can only do that a few more times at the best, or they won't have enough power for the transmitter._

Everything was so dishevelled and scattered_—_Ludwig knew that with just him fighting on this side, he wouldn't be able to protect the hotel efficiently. The automatic machine guns were doing a good job taking care of the incoming FM, but they couldn't reach behind, where a few FM have managed to get past.

Ludwig picked a box full of explosives and a plan formed in his mind.

He couldn't attack these creatures one-on-one, but maybe he could incinerate them.

He popped open a barrel of oil and dragged it across the pavement. Hopefully he could form a trap that could stop the east side's bombardment once and for all.

* * *

Lovino was considering running to the roof, too. Antonio advised him that there were better courses to take.

"I understand that you want to protect your brother," the Spaniard said. "Don't you think we have more pressing matters to address?"

"You can't feel what I can feel!" Lovino shouted. "Feliciano is being the stupid person he is_—_he's scared! He's terrified, and I hate it when he gets scared and projects that feeling onto me! I keep telling him to stop that, but_—_"

"Lovi, no one likes being scared."

"I never said_—_"

"Lovi. You're not feeling scared because your brother is feeling scared. You're feeling scared because you _are_ scared."

Lovino clenched his fists. "Tch. Aren't you?!"

"Sure I am. But we need to be calm and assess the situation with a clear mind."

To prove his point, Spain kicked open a hotel door. Inside he could see the balcony doors swung right open, the curtains flowing inwards, and an abandoned sniper sitting on the rails.

"There's no one on this floor," he said. "Either they've all run away, or they're currently being chased by Frost Men."

"So what?"

"_So_ . . . we're lucky being so high up already, on the fifteenth floor. The natural action to take is to run downwards, towards the entrance, right? That's where you find the concentration of Frost Men. The higher up you go, the less you encounter."

"But doesn't that mean there is less resistance up here for them to get in?"

Antonio held up a finger. "Exactly."

"What do you think we should do then?"

"Well, we could start by_—_"

A rabid growl interrupted their musings.

"Lovi . . ." Antonio gulped. "Don't turn around."

"What_—_"

"Don't look."

"Why?"

Naturally, when told to not look, you look. Lovino turned around and the feeling in his gut twisted uncomfortably.

". . . Shit."

"I told you, didn't I?"

Lovino faced the three Frost Men, holding up an arm to shield Antonio. "How is your wound?"

"A bit better."

"Good." He picked up a stray revolver and handed it to Antonio. "Now run."

They turned and made a break for it. For a split second the FM were confused, and the rest of that second turned into a chase.

"YOU KNOW I HATE IT THAT YOU'RE A FUCKING TARGET, _BASTARDO_!" Lovino screamed. "IT JUST MEANS EVERYONE AROUND YOU HAS A HIGHER DEATH RATE!"

"WELL, I'M _SORRY_ FOR SAVING MY LIFE! I SHOULD HAVE LET THAT INSANE MONSTROSITY KILL ME BEFORE!"

"IF WE GET OUT OF THIS ALIVE_—_" Lovino turned and shot at a FM. "I AM _SO_ KILLING YOU!"

Antonio pulled the trigger. "LIKEWISE!"

They met with a dead end. Antonio and Lovino bravely faced their enemies and readied their ammunition.

"You have it?" Antonio asked.

Lovino produced a matchstick. "Try to find cover."

"WHAT COVER?! WE'RE IN A DEAD END!"

Romano lit the match and tossed it. Five seconds later and the hallway exploded with a burst of bright flames. The fire alarm switched on.

The Frost Men held their heads, tossing and turning, bumping into the walls, trying to rid the terrible screeching from their brains.

Lovino and Antonio took the chance. They shot the FM through their heads, just in time for the irrigation system to activate.

"Oh God . . ." Lovino collapsed to his knees and buried his face in his hands. "We did it . . ."

Antonio lay a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "You all right?"

They sat in the hallway, completely drenched from the spray of water.

"It was your first time legitimately fighting one, wasn't it, Roma?"

Lovino nodded slightly.

"You did well. I would have never thought of that on a whim."

"I don't want to do this anymore_—_I've had it," Romano said. "I've had enough. I'm tired of running. I want to go back to being a coward . . . I hate it when people expect so much out of you, and you're so terrified of making even the tiniest mistake." He considered his present emotional state and came to one conclusion. "I'm scared."

"It's good that you're afraid. It only means you're human."

Lovino let out a shuddering breath. "Are we really?"

Antonio couldn't find anything to say to that. He helped Lovino to his feet. "Up you get. We need to be on our way."

"Where?"

"Well, let's assume that_—_"

Snarls and scratches emanated from the other side of the stairwell doors.

Antonio sighed. "I hate that they keep interrupting me. Looks like it's not over yet, Lovino. Got any more matches?"

"They're wet."

. . .

"Ah. We're screwed, then."

They bolted.

* * *

**I liked this chapter. Anyway, you could tell we're nearing the end of this . . . arc, you could say. The next arc would feature a few "guests". I won't tell you who these "guests" are. You'll just have to find out.**

**Times are tough. Thanks for reading and reviewing. It makes me happy.  
**

**And we've been getting a lot of rain here. I mean A LOT OF RAIN. Hurricane Sandy, I curse you. My heart goes out to New York in particular. They're getting hit hard, while it's still okay-ish in Southern Ontario.  
**


	24. XXIV: Guardian

**Hey guys, just putting this message here to tell you that I've updated the prologue. It'll play a small role in the upcoming plot, so go read it after this. It actually shows you where Italy and Romano were before the World Summit. **

* * *

Fireworks scared the shit out of England, but Hong Kong wasn't doing this _just_ for the sake of scaring England. He was doing it for the rain.

Okay, it's not exactly called rain. China called it rain because he was such an old man.

It was actually the irrigation system. But you all saw that coming.

The fires started from the fireworks' explosion on every floor triggered the fire alarms along with the irrigation systems. This made it easier for Yao to take out the Frost Men using his awesome Kung Fu/Chi redirection moves.

Chi redirection worked like this: You channel your own bodily energy into your opponents body using a conductor, which in this case, is the hands. Your Chi works as a disruptor to negate the natural flows of energy within another's body.

This left the Frost Men disabled and their rationality impeded.

A few scuffles with these creatures made Yao realize that they had more of a human genetic make-up than one of an animal. Thus meaning their insides were very much that of a human's. Their physique on the outside was different, if the lack of eyes said anything, but Yao could tell that their intelligence was not any less sophisticated.

"How long do we do this for?" Hong Kong asked after a few minutes.

Yao whirled around and blasted another Frost Man with his Chi. "As long as it takes for the main group to complete that transmitter, aru."

"I saw America come by with a weird helmet thing. Could that be it?"

"Could be. It is of Italian work?"

"Yes."

"Hmm . . . Yes, yes, I'm sure that's it, aru. He was in a hurry, right?"

"Yes."

"Then we best make our way to the ground floors, aru. There are more of them down there than up here."

"We need someone to seal off the vacant balconies."

Yao grimaced. "I don't want to do this, Hong . . . but I believe we need to split up. You must go to the bottom and continue to light fire to the hallways. I will stay up here and_—_"

"WAIT!"

The two Asians turned. Romano and Spain crashed through the stairwell doors.

"What are you two doing up here?" asked Yao. "You know it's not safe."

"Save the lecture," said Lovino.

"We overheard you talking about splitting up," Antonio clarified. "And I was thinking earlier about how we should go about stopping these things from coming through the windows."

"Hold that thought," Lovino said.

He spun around and shot at a Frost Man, who was just about to enter through the stairwell doors. It fell dead on its face.

Lovino gestured in a gentlemanly fashion. "Continue."

"Thank you, Roma. As I was saying, the fires ignited so far will spread to the rooms and trigger their fire alarms. However, fires spread _down wind._ We need to close all the open windows."

"I still have some fireworks left," said Hong Kong. "I should head downstairs."

"So shall I," Yao announced.

"No," said Antonio. "You will stay up here with me, sealing off the balconies. Lovi, you're heading downstairs. The people need someone who can calm them, and lead them."

Lovino looked outraged. "Why me?! And you're injured, bastard_—_I can't just leave you like this!"

"You _can_ lead them. You _will_."

"You're a freaking _target_, _idiota_! They'll be after you, and without me around_—_"

"I am very capable too~" Yao inputted. "Just putting it out there, aru."

"You see? Everything's under control," said Spain. "Whatever he's doing with his hands, it's working. Yao can serve as defense. You, Roma"_—_he shoved Lovino in the chest_—_"need to get going."

Lovino appeared like an injured animal more than anything else. He took a step back, his eyes accusing.

"I'm not ditching you, if that's what you're thinking," said Antonio. "I'm doing what's best for you."

"That's suicide!" Lovino screamed.

Hong Kong grasped his shoulder, shaking his head. "There's no point in arguing. We need to hurry."

Lovino _really_ wanted to punch Antonio in the face. Instead, he threw his radio at him. "You better be alive when I get back."

Antonio saluted lazily. "Yes, sir."

That angered Lovino even more.

But he knew his priorities. Right now, he needed to calm the people downstairs and get the defense up in working order again. With the fire alarms blazing in the background, Antonio should be relatively safe. He had his gun, he had China with him.

Yes. There was nothing to worry about.

With one last glance behind him, Lovino headed downstairs with Hong Kong.

"It's difficult, aru," Yao commented.

"Difficult how?"

"You know. Letting your young ones go. They were so little, aru. Now they are all grown up."

"I'm not . . . Romano's father."

"I know. But you do care about him."

"Well, yes."

"Then there you go."

Antonio prayed Lovino would be all right. He set to work sealing the breaches.

* * *

Alfred was also being pursued. He had to take detour several times, and there weren't many options when the elevators were down, and the only way up the stairs were the passages on either side of the hall.

Plus, his arms felt like they were about to pop out of his shoulder sockets. He couldn't carry the transmitter anymore.

He flung it at the Frost Man chasing him, glad to be rid of the burden. The transmitter was so heavy, it shattered the monster's torso.

"Good for you, now give it back."

Alfred picked up the device and kept running.

* * *

Germany wasn't a hundred percent sure it would work, but it was something at least.

He'd planted mines all over the eastern side of the hotel, a few kilometres outwards. He waited for the trap to be sprung.

After the mines detonate, the oil he split on the ground would ignite and roast the Frost Men alive. That was his plan, and it should work out in his favour.

If the Frost Men were also resistant to fire, then he was screwed.

He knew it wasn't enough to kill them outright, but it was enough to slow them down in time for the machine guns to lock on, target, and fire.

Once again electricity enveloped the building. Most of the surrounding establishments flickered and shut off. Some street posts actually blew out. The atmosphere grew dim.

Ludwig stalked over to the unconscious Frost Men near the base of the hotel and shot them down the throat. Their marble skin froze, cracked, and crumbled into dust.

That was when the first mine went off.

The force of the explosion rocked the street. If Ludwig hadn't been the army nut he was, he would have tripped over his own feet and been introduced to the floor.

A part of the street caught fire and travelled along in a straight line, forcing a barrier right across to the other side. The Frost Men passed through it with no problem, but then another charge went off and their bodies blew skyward in every direction.

Ludwig didn't know why, but suddenly he was being forced onto a knee, clutching his face. There was a faint throbbing in his right eye that hadn't been caused by the mine detonations.

"_Bruder . . ._"

It was weak, barely distinguishable, but at that point Ludwig knew his brother was in trouble.

* * *

Gilbert didn't feel as awesome as he usually did. He was _losing_.

He'd been forced to abandon a sword when he'd been slashed across the arm. He was only wielding a single weapon in his left hand now. It definitely wasn't enough to go against the Frost Man facing him.

To add to the list of misfortunes, he lost an eye.

Nations were able to grow back body parts quickly because of hyper-regeneration, but he couldn't replace his eye in a few minutes. It took at least a few weeks.

The worst part of it was the fact that his right side was completely exposed to harm. His right arm had been injured, he couldn't see to the right at him at all, and he was overall at a huge disadvantage.

Gilbert panted heavily, aware of the warm liquid trickling down his cheek. A pang of pain forced him to keel over.

When the Frost Man attacked him, it hadn't poked him in the eye. It literally slashed him across the face, taking his eye as collateral damage.

_What did Kiku and Heracles say before about the Frost Men? They are adjusted to the skill attributes of their targets, aren't they? That means I need to be as unpredictable as I can in order to beat this guy._

**What are you waiting for, pathetic human?**

The voice had an alien lilt to it, as if it hadn't spoken with a single living soul for thousands of years. Gilbert snapped back into reality.

"You can _talk_?"

**Not talk. We think.**

"You're telepathic!"

**Do not misunderstand, wretched thing. We cannot read your minds.**

_That's good. Otherwise I'd be dead by now._

Gilbert weighed the sword in his hands. He couldn't use this anymore. The Frost Man watched him fight its other brethren. It only saw him use the swords. He needed to draw out his gun and start to battle with that.

**I will kill you,** the Frost Man growled. **Afterwards, I shall take your other eye. Then I will take your other arm.**

Gilbert threw his sword down. "Not a chance."

**Foolish creature. What are you doing? Do you want me to kill you so easily?**

He reached behind and grasped at the gun handle in his belt. "You misunderstand. I'm merely giving myself another opportunity to beat you."

**I do not understand. Why would you do such a thing? What can you possibly gai_—_**

Gilbert drew out his gun in a flash. Without missing a beat, he shot at the creature. The Frost Man recoiled expertly and darted to the side. Gilbert followed with his single eye, the barrel of his gun trained on its target.

"So unawesome," he tutted in disappointment. "Who's the one running now?"

**I do not understand. How are you not dead?  
**

"Because I've been dead for a while. That is, my country has fallen. Prussia has since long disappeared. I don't know why I'm still around. I've got nothing to live for, no responsibilities. It's a mystery to everyone, including me."

Gilbert fired another round. The bullet bounced harmlessly off the creature's forehead.

"You see, fighting with swords demands short-ranged combat. Guns are mid-ranged and easier to handle. I bet the only info you got about me is from when I was still a legit nation, right? Before I disappeared off the grid."

The Frost Man growled in retaliation.

"That means you only know about my swordplay skills. You have no idea just how well I can shoot."

**. . . What is your point, human?**

"My point is: I'm the older sibling of Germany. Where do you think he obtained his skills from?"

The Frost Man was silent.

"Exactly," said Gilbert. "_Me_."

The next bullet sailed through the creature's gaping mouth and ripped through its skull. The beast crumbled into a billion porcelain pieces.

Gilbert sighed with relief and nearly collapsed himself if it hadn't been for Kiku, shouting to remind him that the battle wasn't over yet.

He stumbled clumsily to his feet and retrieved his sword from the gravel.

_Awesome. _He hadn't lost his touch after all.

* * *

**The definition of _awesome_: Prussia, 'nuff said.  
**

**Thanks for reading, as always!  
**

**P.S. I honestly have no idea how Chi redirection works. It's a move I made up for China, because otherwise if he didn't get a really powerful technique, he'd be killed off in a second. I would ask my mom about it, since she goes to Tai Chi two times a week, but I'd be getting a long lecture about my culture and how I should learn more about Chinese history . . . I get enough lectures in school already. I don't want to learn any more than I have to.  
**


	25. XXV: Painful Truth

The battle progressed with difficulty, with their spirits drained.

Norway had been the most severely impacted by the revelation. Mathias had to continuously remind him, shouting over his shoulder, to pay attention and look out for the Frost Men's advance.

He didn't need to be told what to do, especially from the idiot Dane. Of course he knew that defending the hotel was of the utmost importance. He knew that already one side had been breached, and if another side were to go next, their only safehaven would disappear, and they'd be overrun.

He _knew_ all that, and yet . . . he felt obligated to throw down his weapon and look for Emil at the same time. He needed to be certain, to be reassured, that his brother was okay.

Between all the fighting, there was a small interval of freedom. Mathias jogged over with a worried expression.

"Hey, Lukas," he said. "You've been rather out of it. You all right?"

"I'm fine," Lukas bit out. "Get back to where you were. The sooner this is over with, the sooner we can go look for Emil, Berwald and Tino."

"If you're stressed, I can take over for a bit. I'm barely winded."

"I don't _need_ your help!" he snapped. "I'm perfectly fine on my own! Leave already!"

As usual, Mathias wasn't affected by the tone of the Norwegian's voice, but Lukas rarely got angry and raised his voice. Mathias wasn't _that_ oblivious. He could tell when someone was despairing.

"We'll find them," he stated strongly. "You'll see. They'll turn up."

He returned back to this post without hearing Lukas's reply. In fact, Lukas couldn't find anything to say.

* * *

The numbers on the east side were waning. Even still, Ludwig's explosives supply was running low.

And that wasn't even the worst of it. The Frost Men were beginning to figure out that the machine guns were the only things holding them back, so they decided to fan out to destroy them.

The good news was the Frost Men were no longer entering the building. Ludwig didn't know exactly why, but at least there was someone out there to take initiative and seal the breaches.

The worse part of it all was that the Frost Men were now heading up onto the top.

_Feliciano . . . You better stay safe until I can get to you myself._

Another mine exploded. Ludwig estimated the remaining numbers, and found that the next set of mines needed planting. He grabbed a bin full of them and hauled them out into the open.

Along the way, he came across a Frost Man missing all its limbs, just lying in the remnants of other body parts. Its head was twisted completely 180.

Ludwig braced himself. Anger boiled inside him. Just what were their reasons for doing this in the first place? It was endangering far too many lives!

He wanted to give them a chance to justify themselves. They were intelligent creatures; why would they even run around committing useless murder?

"Why?!" Ludwig yelled. "Why are you doing this?! Innocent people are dead because of you!"

He didn't expect it to answer. He didn't expect it _could_ answer.

But when it projected its thoughts directly into his mind, Ludwig flinched at the ferocity. He couldn't begin to process the words. There were a million different voices harbored into this single being.

**Are you humans any different? You kill just for the sake of killing. **

Ludwig reinforced his courage. "S-so you're saying you _want_ to bring yourselves down to our level."

**Incorrect. I'm speaking specifically to you, Germany, Ludwig Beilschmidt. You have done the world a grave wrong in the past.**

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

**You are no different from us. You have been a tyrant. You have murdered innocent people. You have caused pain and suffering to families. You hunted your own citizens like animals.**

"Shut up." Ludwig pointed his gun in the creature's face. "You don't know me."

**Don't I? Am I wrong?**

"There is not a single day where I don't regret what I did. I'm spending the rest of the my life atoning for those sins. I'll bear them myself if I have to. Don't misguide yourself into thinking that you can excuse your own personal actions."

**Misguide? It is a mere fact. It is not only you who has made such a mistake, but others as well. At least we are not turning our own citizens against each other. You have different people from different heritages in your country. Does that give you a reason to slaughter them? Because of what? That you believed you were the SUPERIOR race? You are weak, Germany.**

Ludwig grounded his incisors. "Everyone makes mistake, I'll admit that. I've made a _horrible_ mistake that day. I shouldn't have let Adolf continue his rule. But today, things are different. Today, by bringing that up, you've made me angry. Now you're going to pay for it."

The Frost Man had the nerve to laugh. _**Pay?**_

If such monsters were capable of sarcasm, this one was doing a fine job succeeding at it.

**Pay, you say. I may have lost my body, but that does not stop my brethren from finishing the job. My consciousness would simply float elsewhere and join with them. **

**Now hear this, Germany: History will repeat itself eventually. The cycle will continue again, over and over. That is because you nation-people never learn. You never learn from your past mistakes, and you threaten to tear each other apart every century. That is why, while you think you have realized your mistakes, you will always commit them one day, again. There is no end to bloodshed. That is what we are teaching you now.  
**

"Is that really what you think?"

**We know this. Mother has watched you grow over the few millennia. She has watched you prosper, fall, cheat, lie, enforce, control, and inflict fear. She _knows_ none of you have changed. How many wars have you caused, Germany?  
**

That was enough talk. He feared that if he continued to let the monster piss him off, he'd do something he'd _really_ regret. Germany shot the Frost Man through the head and lowered the pistol to glare down at the unmoving body.

"You have no idea what I went through during those years. One side of me was constantly running away from the other side of myself, struggling to stay alive. My brother and I were forced to separate. And yet, despite all that, my superior disapproved. He knew my nature, he knew this was bound to happen. He locked me up for days, while all that time, I was kept in the pitch darkness, wondering the exact reasons why there was a war . . . Do not think you can _begin_ to understand me."

* * *

_I surrender! I surrender!  
_

Italy desperately waved his white flag.

"Feliciano!" Elizabeta barked disapprovingly. "What are you doing? Put that down!"

"But—but—but—"

"No buts! We're not surrendering!"

"But there's so many!"

"I told you no buts!"

Feliciano giggled. "You said butts."

Elizabeta considered smacking him over the head with her sword. "Where did you get that anyway?"

"I kept it in my coat. I always bring one just in case."

"Feliciano . . ."

"Eh, we don't have time for this!" Matthew spoke urgently. "The two of you: focus!"

Elizabeta and Feliciano brought their attention back to the matter at hand.

"We have a problem," said Matthew.

"Of _course_ we do."

"I can only electrocute this building one more time if we want to have electricity left for the transmitter. That means we need to make the next shock count."

"You mean, afterwards, we'd have virtually nothing to defend ourselves with?" asked Feliciano.

"That's right."

Feliciano flailed his white flag. "I surrender! I surrender!"

"That's not going to work, Feli," said Elizabeta.

"You never know. White flags are universal!"

"What would Germany say if he were here?"

Feliciano opened his eyes. He _ve'd_ quietly. Elizabeta swore this was the first time she'd seen him open his eyes properly. He had the same beautiful amber colour like his brother.

"He probably won't like me acting cowardly," Feliciano spoke, lowering his flag. "He'd make me run twenty laps just for waving one. He'd probably confiscate all my pasta ingredients for two hours. He'd—"

"Two hours?"

"Er, yeah. In Italy, we eat later in the day, in large bounties. So lunch time and dinner time is pretty close."

"I thought you ate whenever."

"Eat, sleep, run. What's the difference?"

Their conversations served to calm his own nerves. Matthew held the live wires two inches apart from each other, ignoring the way his hands trembled. The newest battalion of Frost Men clambered onto the roof and surrounded them in a circular formation, as if they were about to perform some ancient rites.

"Make this count," Elizabeta said.

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He bent down and pressed the wires to the metal roof. Immediately the circuit connected and electrified the Frost Men. Those still climbing up fell off again. The ones gathered on the roof surface collapsed.

A few dozen buildings around them went dark. The streetlights on 5th avenue blew out. The city plunged deeper into the dawning night.

Matthew stood. "That's it. We're on our own now. Every man for himself."

"_No . . ._" Feliciano stared into empty space. "There's got to be something else, right, Matthew? There's got to be something else you can do!"

Matthew shook his head sadly. "The only thing we can do is make sure everything's prepared when Alfred gets here. When he'll get here, I have no idea. Only time will tell."

_But we don't have much time!_

"What if Alfred doesn't get up here in time?" asked Feliciano. "What do we do then?"

Elizabeta tossed a Frost Man over the side. "That's simple, Feli. We survive."

* * *

It took awhile, but Francis finally found England. The mage was blasting everything in his line of sight. He finished up with the south side and moved on to the east side.

Arthur had been moving in an unpredictable fashion. Francis only took this long because the Englishman was tracing a seven mile radius around the hotel. Yes. It was _that_ far out.

Francis decided to cut him off, so that Arthur would bump into him instead. He stood with his arms crossed as Arthur approached him. The Englishman's eyes glowed fearsomely.

"That's enough, _rosbif_," Francis said. "Put down the book."

Arthur scowled. "Move aside, Frog."

"Oh." Francis quirked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "So you're technically still aware of your surroundings."

"Of _course_ I am," Arthur scoffed. "Never will you find me a subject of my own power."

"Then you understand why you should stop. You're putting everyone's lives in danger."

Arthur was stubborn. "I don't take orders from you, Francis. _Move_."

"If you won't stop, then blast me."

"What?"

"Go ahead," dared Francis. "If you want your revenge so badly, then go ahead and plough right through me."

"I'm not going to kill you. That's a ridiculous notion. Stand down, git. It'll be the worst mistake you'll ever make."

"_You're_ the one who's making the huge mistake here! You're a complete _idiote,_ Arthur!"

"Bloody hell." Arthur readied his wand. "I'll really do it, you know. I'll kill you right here!"

Francis raised his sword. "_Go. Ahead._"

After ten seconds, nothing happened.

"Exactly," said Francis. "You're a coward. No matter how angry you are, no matter how much you hate me, you cannot bring yourself to kill me. Now stop this, before you do end up killing someone."

"You've got some nerve coming out here alone, just by yourself," said Arthur. "Fortunately, I don't have to kill you. I could always knock you unconscious with a spell."

"Really, now? What's with the sudden mercy? What about back then? What about the things you did during the Hundred Years War?"

"What bollocks are you spouting now, Frog?"

"You were playing dirty! What do you think I'm talking about?"

"I know that you're not talking about what you're thinking about."

"What?" Francis shook his head. "Never mind that. It's none of your business."

"Is this about that girl, Frog? Joan, wasn't it?"

"It's _Jeanne_."

"So what? I thought you were over that."

"I've never been over that. You killed her, Arthur. You burned her to death!"

"Oh, so _you_ coming out here to stop _me_ was all a ruse to cover what you really wanted to talk to me about all this time . . . Well played, Frog. So what now? You going to cut me down?"

"That's not it. I don't blame you."

Arthur lowered his book a tad. "What?"

"I don't blame you," Francis repeated. "In fact, for past few decades, I'd been blaming myself for her capture, and her death. She was turned in by the French traitors. My own people! At the time, I had no power to save her . . . I had been angry at you at first, but that wasn't a viable reason to justify my own actions. It had always been my fault."

"I'd . . . Wasn't me killing Jeanne the reason you hate me? You always said that you bore a grudge against me for this reason."

"I miss Jeanne. But the dead cannot be brought back. It'd be useless to dwell on the past, especially when you're a nation. Times flies by quickly, and not so at the same time. The events that have transpired a hundreds of years ago can seem like it was just yesterday, when in reality, it's the exact opposite."

While Francis had been speaking to Arthur about Jeanne, he'd been taking steps closer. Arthur didn't seem to notice this. If he did, he didn't care. Now he stood face-to-face with the Brit.

"Arthur, I ask you again—stop this. You're going to regret what you do if you go through with this."

England gripped his wand. "That story was touching. Really. But I've come this far—I cannot stop now. Apologies, Francis. For the heinous acts I committed towards Miss d'Arc, for the wrongs I've done to you, and for the atrocities that are sure to follow."

Arthur shoved past him. Francis wasn't about to let him escape again—not after all this precious time he wasted to find the Brit. He raised his sword and bashed Arthur over the side of his head with the pommel.

"_Non_. _My_ apologies."

Arthur spun around in circles before crumpling to the floor. His spell and wand clattered away from his hands, and his magic dissipated into vapour.

Francis sheathed his sword. "It's better if you just lie there, _rosbif_."

England snored quietly as he slept.

* * *

**I mean no offense to anyone when I bring up WW2 and its side activities. It's kind of one of Germany's big no-no's and I thought it'd be a great opportunity for character development. It's clear that Germany is still wrapped up and sensitive about it. I want to show that these nations are not fighting just for the world, but for personal reasons. I wanted to show that they know their obligations, no matter how much they want to abandon them for personal reasons. **

**And it's clear that France has a lot of grudges against England, while England obviously has his own little issues about losing everyone and everything all at once *cough*America*cough*. Although he still has Canada . . . England forgets Canada ever exists sometimes. That's the sad part. **


	26. XXVI: Romano

Romano regretted giving his radio to Antonio. He had no one to talk to. The walk downstairs, amidst all the pyrotechnics, Lovino realized that Hong Kong wasn't one of the most sociable of people.

He spent the time trying to dry his matches. Hong Kong only had half a dozen fireworks left, and they were still halfway through to the bottom.

The hallways were empty. Most of the activity occurred in the stairwells because that was the natural course to take when you were running away from stuff of nightmare. Sometimes a random nation would burst out from the stairwell doors and fly past them, a Frost Man in tow.

Otherwise, the hallways were rather peaceful. Well, except the fire alarms were blaring obnoxiously and water occupied every (no longer) dry space. Flames raged behind suite doors.

Lovino kicked aside a stray fire-extinguisher. "Where is everyone? Shouldn't we see more people down here?"

"My guess is," said Hong Kong, "they've escaped the building already."

Lovino looked at him sharply. "What are you saying? Those bastards _ditched_?"

Hong shrugged.

"_Merda_. They're more cowardly than me."

"Let's try to find those who stayed."

They crossed the hall to the west wing. The condition there fared no better.

"What the fuck!" Lovino cursed. "_Everyone_ ran. There are no snipers left on any side of this goddamn building!" He ran a hand through his hair and slumped against the wall. "What do we do _now_?"

"It's obvious _why_ they ran," said Hong. He pointed at the front door. "Apparently these things just rip their way through wooden barricades. There's no stopping them."

"If the nations are running wild in the streets, with their snipers still here, that means they're practically weaponless," Lovino reasoned. "We need to round them up and bring them back here."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"First, we need to gather the remaining nations left in the buildings."

"And then what?"

Lovino drew out a match and struck up a flame. He threw it into the hallway just in time for it to explode. The fire alarms wailed.

"And then what . . . Good question."

"You don't know, do you?"

"Not a clue. Do I look like a Germany to you?"

* * *

After much walking and part sliding down the railings like little boys, Lovino and Hong finally managed to get to the lobby.

The suites of the first floor served as temporary sick bay. Only a few nations occupied the space. The few hundred others that ran were long gone.

Hong Kong stopped. "_Yong Soo_?"

South Korea turned and beamed at the sight of his brother. "Hong! And Mr. Vargas! I'm glad you're both here."

"What's the situation?" asked Lovino.

Yong Soo's smile faded. "Not good. We've got just over 90+ deserters. I don't know where they've gone, but they were being pursued by Frost Men. Naturally, you'd want to get into open space where there are more places to run."

Lovino made displeased sound. "Is that so? We'd need a fucking miracle to save ourselves at this point."

"Miracles originated from Korea, _daze_~! In fact, the few of us left have been scrounging around for more weapons. There are _tons_ if you get to search around in someone's room. You'd be amazed with what we found in Mr. Beilshmidt's room."

"Yong Soo, I don't think he'd appreciate you intruding on his privacy," Hong berated.

"Come on, Hong! Desperate times calls for desperate measures! Raiding rooms was necessary."

"Speaking of which, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I blew up your room."

Lovino stuck his fingers into his ear, preparing for the following onslaught.

"WHAT?! You did WHAT, Hong?!"

Hong Kong blinked. "It was necessary."

"Necessary, my ass!"

Lovino rummaged around in the firearms pile that the remaining nations managed to scavenge. He slung a rifle over his back and crossed an ammunitions belt over his other shoulder.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Yong Soo said.

Romano tested a pair of duo pistols. "I'm going to track down those traitors. I _told _them, didn't I? _Run, and you're dead._ They're asking for a death wish. If it's not from the Frost Men, then it's got to be me. And frankly, at this point, I don't care who I shoot."

"And you're sure you're prepared to head out there."

"No. But that's why I'm going alone. There's no way the either of you are coming with me. If something goes wrong, then I want it to be on me, and me only. Stay here and hold the fort. I may be gone awhile."

"You're the one asking for the death wish," said Hong Kong. "There's a high chance you're not making it back alive."

"If I don't bring them back, then none of us are making it out of this alive. I need to take the risk."

"You know you don't have to do this."

Lovino's hands were shaking. "I—I know. I don't want to, either. It's not my nature. But I _promised_ Antonio. He's trusting me with this."

Yong Soo sighed. "Looks like we aren't talking you out of this. Good luck, Mr. Vargas."

"Y-yeah. I'm gonna need it."

* * *

Lovino wandered around the city for a few minutes before he came across his first group of deserters. At least they knew safety in numbers, the idiots. They crowded around the central fountain in front of City Hall.

"Well, well," he said. "Look who we have here."

"We're just trying to save ourselves," said Romania.

"Uh huh. And how's that working out for ya? You have a higher chance of death out here than in the hotel."

"At least we got rid of them," said South Africa.

"Not for long. You're lucky you managed to elude those things. They'll turn up again."

The Italian was right. White, ghostly figures crawled over City Hall like spiders, dropping down to the ground before them.

The nations started to back away.

"Dammit, don't run!" Lovino yelled. "They _want_ us separated!"

The nations dispersed in random directions.

"AT LEAST _STAY TOGETHER_!"

The Frost Men, excluding three of them, chose their own target and scrambled after them. The remainder trained their nonexistent eyes on Lovino.

Lovino got down on his knees and pounded the ground in frustration. "Shit, shit, shit, shit . . . This wasn't supposed to happen!"

He spotted an abandoned radio to the side and desperately made a grab for it. He adjusted his signal and silently hoped that the deserters hadn't ditched their radios too.

"Listen up," he spoke shakily. "All of you bastards get back to the hotel right now. There aren't many Frost Men left in the building, so just head back . . . okay? Hurry back before you're caught. The majority have followed you out and are swarming around the city. The best choice is to retreat. I know you have your doubts, and you're wondering why you're even listening to me. I don't quite believe it either, but . . . you gave my brother a chance. Give me one, too."

He remembered the three Frost Men wanting to kill him, and he gulped.

"I think this is the end of things for me . . . so goodbye, I guess."

Lovino decided to take the first shot. He gripped the rifle and aimed carefully.

His finger jerked the trigger, and the bullet pierced through the air, embedding itself deep into one of the Frost Men's head. The creature dropped like a brick. It also shattered like a brick.

Lovino whirled around and bolted. He wasn't going to defeat them while standing around. He needed to find a suitable place for him to fight them. The fountain got in the way.

At least there were only two of them left . . .

* * *

. . . Just his luck. Lovino ran himself into an alley.

After a while of playing chase and circling around the maze of buildings, Lovino ended up getting himself _trapped_ in a closed-off alley.

_Brilliant, stupid! _

He faced the alley opening and reloaded his guns. The second FM he got rid of by making it run into a manhole. Lovino didn't know whether the drop killed the creatures—probably didn't—but he was glad he managed to ditch it.

The last one entered the alley.

"It's you and me," he said to the Frost Man. "Isn't it ironic? I'm here, facing you, but I'm still such a coward that I can't even tell my stupid brother goodbye. I never said that I— Oh, no . . . but he knows."

**I will give you a chance to say it,** the Frost Man spoke.

Lovino was slightly surprised that it spoke to him, but he shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to." He held up the broken radio. "I managed to trash this along the way . . ."

**Then die, human.**

"Not before you eat bullets."

The Frost Man charged. Lovino let loose a round of ammunition. Evidently they missed because there was no sign of the creature slowing down. Lovino ducked just in time for its claws to graze the air above his head. He made a break for the alley exit.

**You are slow.**

A clawed appendage gripped his shoulder. Lovino crossed his arm over and shot at his capturer. The Frost Man whipped him around in retaliation, launching him at the wall.

Lovino crashed into solid brick, all the air rushing out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. He'd dropped his guns somewhere; he reached for the rifle.

The creature knocked it out of his hands and pounded him into the dirt. It stood with a leg pressed against Lovino's chest.

**This is the end.**

Lovino coughed. "Then . . . m-maybe . . . I'll t-take your . . . offer w-with a f-few l-last words . . ."

**It is too late.**

He turned his head. Lovino could see the lights around him blinking out.

"It is too late," he agreed.

A wave of sonic frequency washed over the area. The city plunged into oblivion.

* * *

**Eight minutes earlier . . .**

"Huh?"

"What is it, Liz?" said Feliciano.

Elizabeta raised her pager. "I've got a message from Gilbert. He says . . . God, Feli, I'm so sorry."

Feliciano blinked innocently. "Hm? What are you sorry for?"

"No. No, you don't need to know." Elizabeta tried smiling, but it looked half-broken. "Sorry if I worried you."

"Worried? You're saying sorry again, Liz. Just tell me what's wrong."

"We've got other things to worry about, eh," said Matthew, catching on. "We'll leave the matter to later, Feliciano."

"Oh . . . okay."

**To: Elizabeta H.**

**Subject: (no subject)**

**We've just got a radio broadcast from Romano. From his tone, it's clear he's in trouble . . . He says goodbye. I don't think we're going to see him again.**

**Gilbert B.**

* * *

**Six minutes later, two minutes before activation . . .**

Alfred was going to collapse from exhaustion. By the time he got to the twenty-fourth floor, he was going at half the speed of when he started. That wasn't the bad news, either.

The bad news was that he didn't have a weapon to defend himself with.

The reason he was taking so long to get to the top was because of the sheer amount of detours and backtracking he had to do in order to avoid these Frost Men. If he had a weapon—well, okay, he could just turn and shoot them. But he didn't have the luxury. All he could do was run.

Blood pounded in his ears. Alfred was vaguely aware of rabid snarling behind him, closing in fast.

_Just a little more. A little more. A little more and this is all over. Alfred, the whole world rests on your shoulders. You NEED to get this to the top!_

His self-importance spurred him onwards. Alfred whipped himself around the corner and darted up the stairs, two steps at a time. The Frost Men hadn't anticipated his burst of speed and crashed head-first into the wall. The ones at the back weren't affected, however. They continued to take chase.

Floor 25. There were about nine FM waiting for him there. Fortunately enough, the staircase leading to the 26th floor were right next to the one he was in. He kicked open the door and rushed up the stairs.

Someone stepped on his heels. Alfred tripped, the transmitter rolling out of his hands.

A Frost Man loomed over him.

Alfred didn't know whether it would work—but he tried anyway. He kicked the thing in the groin.

Ineffective. The Frost Man simply tilted its head, as if saying _Was that supposed to do something?_

Alfred used that interval of confusion to run towards the transmitter, scoop it up, and then make for the ladder leading to the roof.

He pounded desperately on the trapdoor. "OPEN THE DAMNED THING, MATTIE! OR I'M DEAD!"

The Frost Men scrambled up the ladder. Alfred screamed . . . in a not-very-manly-like manner.

The trapdoor swung open. Someone hauled Alfred upward. A Frost Man managed to lunge forward and take a shoe off.

Alfred didn't care if he nearly lost a foot. He was alive!

Elizabeta slammed down the trap door and slid her sword between the lock to jam it. The Frost Men thumped against the door. Luckily it was made of metal. It would hold them back, at least for the moment.

"You okay, Alfred?" Matthew asked.

"Forget me!" Alfred said, his voice still high, as if he'd recently inhaled helium. "Get this thing and hook it up!"

"Um, problem."

"What?!"

"Look around."

They were surrounded.

"_Fuck_," America growled.

He dumped the transmitter in his brother's arms and charged forward, taking the Frost Men on with what he knew best: hand-to-hand brawling. It was different from his usual choice of firearms, making it difficult for the enemies to adapt.

Matthew lumbered over to his circuit and gingerly hooked it up to the transmitter. The interface lit up.

"FELICIANO!" he yelled over his shoulder. "PULL DOWN THE RED LEVER ON THE PANEL!"

Italy, by some luck, managed to duck around a Frost Man swinging at him, and proceed to slide between the legs of another. In the same swift motion, Feliciano spun to his feet and pulled down the indicated lever.

The city around them began to blink off as the transmitter sucked in the power.

The bullhorn on top of the weird helmet part began to spin rapidly. It emitted a high whine before going completely silent.

Almost at once, an invisible force slammed into the Frost Men and disintegrated their bodies. The wave spread first from the roof, down the building to the ground, up and around to every single corner of the city.

The sound of porcelain shattering drowned out the silence of the night air.

Darkness took over. Not a living thing moved or spoke. It seemed to last a lifetime.

Then, slowly, but most definitely, the sun peaked through the city skyline—the dawning of a new day.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The first part of this story is almost done!**

**I wasn't thinking of naming this chapter _Romano_, but since more than half the chapter's about him and/or his point-of-view, I decided _Why not_? Besides, I didn't want to write another character chapter for him, so . . . Yeah. Me and my laziness.  
**

**Oh, right, and if you haven't noticed yet, each character chapter has its own theme. For Spain, it was wrath. For Greece, it was self-importance. For England, it was vengeance. For Romano, it was sacrifice.  
**


	27. XXVII: Grievances

Russia lowered his pipe as his enemies disappeared before his eyes. He had to admit, he was disappointed.

He figured revenge wasn't always _that_ satisfying.

* * *

Kiku hurried to Gilbert's side. "You're losing too much blood! We need to get you inside!"

"I'm fine . . ."

"No, you're not. We need to get that eye checked out."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me."

"Ugh . . . yes, sir."

Gilbert nearly passed out on the way inside.

* * *

Ludwig exhaled with a sigh of relief. Things were different now. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He was _never_ going to persecute unless judgment has been passed. It was difficult admitting it, but what the Frost Man said had been true—at least, about the committing needless bloodshed. He was determined not to repeat history again.

He headed back towards the entrance, so he could get up there and yell at Feliciano for taking so long with the transmitter.

And also, so he could express just how good it was to see him, alive and well.

* * *

Francis had a small orb of light going. He and Arthur sat around it like a campfire.

"So it's over, huh," said Arthur, a massive bump swelling on his head.

"Yyyy-ep. Pretty much."

"Well. That was . . . not as exciting as I hoped it would be."

"Reality never is, _mon ami_."

"What do we do now?"

Francis shrugged. "I guess we split up from here. The battle is over—for now. There aren't many things us nations can do _together_, but there are bits of individual missions we need to accomplish."

"Like what?"

"For one, obtaining our respective transmitter and mounting it up in our capital cities. The Frost Men would target the highest seat of parliament in order to bring us down."

"True, true. So this is goodbye, I s'pose?"

Francis chuckled. "You wish. This won't be the last you'll hear from me, count on it."

Arthur smirked. "Trust me. Wasn't thinking it. No matter how many times you get your arse whooped, you get back up with even more lives."

"_Merci . . . je crois?_"

"You're welcome."

* * *

Lukas sheathed his sword. He marched up to Mathias.

"Well?"

"Well . . . what?" Mathais said. "You going somewhere?"

"Cup the crap—don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Forgotten . . . Oh! You mean Emil, Tino and Berwald, right?"

"Yes."

"What about them?"

Lukas gritted his teeth. "_We need to find them._"

Mathias laughed. "Do you even know where they've gone?"

"No, but—"

"So obviously it'd be pointless to set out and wander around aimlessly, right? We should wait things out, see if they turn up."

"They could be in danger. They could be hurt, lost, or trapped. I won't risk it. If you won't help, then I'll head out myself."

"Whoa. Calm down, Nor—"

"I AM CALM!" Lukas snapped.

Mathias held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I promise we'll find them. But we've got to meet up with everyone else and do a head-count."

"Do you not understand, Dane?! Everyone else has run away already!"

"Huh?"

"Don't 'Huh?' me!"

"Chill! Why are you yelling at me? I already promised you, as King, I'm—"

Lukas snatched up Mathias by the collar. "_Shut up._ You don't know the least bit about being a king. Tino's gone. Berwald's gone. And EMIL'S GONE!" He glared in Denmark's face. "You call yourself a king? A _king_ is NOTHING without his people! How can you be so careless when there has been so many casualities?! Do you not _care_?!"

Mathias gently unravelled Lukas's hands away from him.

"Sure, I care. If you're not going to be calm, then someone has to. You're getting carried away, Lukas. How are you supposed to beat despair with despair? I don't break my promises. We _will_ find them. We didn't dive into this battle without knowing the consequences. You are my strength, Lukas. You, Tino, Berwald, and Emil. I wouldn't abandon any of you."

There was a certain wisdom behind the Dane's words. Lukas knew he was right. He felt his anger draining out of him.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said.

Mathias raised an eyebrow. "Uh, sure. Shoot."

"Are you really that stupid, or are you just pretending to be?"

* * *

Feliciano cheered. Alfred got down on his knees and kissed the ground. He whooped at the sky, his shouts echoing across the city landscape.

"We did it!" Elizabeta said, smiling. "Matthew, we did it!"

"Yeah, we did, didn't we!"

Alfred enveloped his brother in a hug. "You are a GENIUS, Mattie! Have I ever told you that I love you, bro?"

Matthew chuckled weakly. "Ha . . . hardly. To both."

"Whatever, man! I'm just glad we're alive! AHAHAHAHAHA~!"

"Alfred," said Feliciano. "Can I borrow your radio? I want to tell _fratello_ the good news! His transmitter _actually_ worked! I had my doubts, but he pulled through!"

Immediately the happy expressions dropped from everyone's faces.

"Uh . . ." Alfred reluctantly handed his radio over. "Sure, but you should know—Lovi's . . ."

"He's what?"

"Feli," started Elizabeta. "Your brother's not exactly . . . available."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?"

"There's no easy way to say this," said Matthew. "It's complicated. I don't think we should tell you."

"That's fine," said Feliciano. "Let me talk with _fratello_ first, then you can tell me."

"That's the thing," said Alfred. "He's—"

"_Fratello!_" Feliciano spoke happily into the radio. "Hey, _fratello_, guess what~"

* * *

The radio crackled.

Antonio paused, shaking the device out and slapping it to get it working.

"What's wrong?" asked China.

"It's this thing. We got it wet earlier, so it isn't working too well. Who knows—probably somebody's got an update for us. I don't want to miss this."

Antonio twisted the knob, adjusting the frequency. There was only static for a few seconds, but then the radio picked up on an active channel and tuned in.

". . . _Fratello! Romano, are you there?! It's me, Feliciano!_"

"Feli!" Antonio said. "Feli, it's me, Spain!"

"_Antonio! You're okay! Can you give the radio to _fratello_? I want to tell him something._"

"What is it? I'll pass on the message."

"_Is he not there with you?_"

"Nope. We split up earlier."

"_Oh . . . The battle's over. The transmitter was delivered, and it succeeded in defeating the Frost Men._"

"Really! That's excellent, Feli! Lovi's going to be so happy. He's just downstairs rounding up the people."

"_Okay~! We'll meet up again, Antonio!_"

"Take care, Feli."

* * *

Feliciano lowered the radio, his face devoid of any happiness.

"This is what you weren't telling me, wasn't it," he said. "_Fratello's_ not with Antonio. No one knows where he is. So what's happened to him?"

"Feli," said Elizabeta. "I tried to tell you, but it wasn't the moment to, and I feared if you knew, it would destroy our chances of . . ."

"So you thought my brother was less important."

"It was already too late," said Matthew. "No one's to blame—including you."

"So what happened to him?"

"He's—" Elizabeta showed her pager. "Gilbert sent me a message about Lovino's last radio broadcast. It was likely a Frost Man got to him."

Feliciano started shaking his head. "No . . . No, it can't be."

"I'm sorry, Feli, but—"

"NO! Lovi's my twin! I—I would know if he was really gone. He's not _dead_! He can't be!"

"Feliciano," said Alfred. "For now, we don't know if that's true or not. We're only assuming, so calm down, 'kay? From the distress in his voice and his evident farewell, we're going with the most likely possibility."

"Wh—What time did the transmission come in? Maybe . . . Maybe we made it in time to activate the transmitter, and . . ."

"It was a few minutes before the activation. I heard it on my way up here."

"No. _No_. Lovino can't be . . ."

The trapdoor behind them rattled noisily. The countries nearly jumped out of their skins.

Elizabeta removed her sword from the lock. Ludwig poked his head through the opening.

"Thank _Gott_," he said. "You're all okay."

Feliciano sniffled. "Ludwig . . ."

"Hey, Feliciano. What's wrong?"

"_Fratello's_ . . ."

* * *

Yao met up with Hong and Yong Soo downstairs. Greece, Japan, Turkey and Austria were helping with the injured.

"That doesn't look too good," Roderich commented on Gilbert's missing eye.

"Ah, shut it. It could've been worse."

"No kidding," said Sadik, whistling.

"Not all of the nations made it back," reported Yong Soo. "Most likely they didn't have the radios to hear Mr. Vargas's . . . message. The few that did immediately came rushing back here. We're still missing at least sixty countries."

"That's not good," said Yao, stroking his chin. "You say Romano was responsible for this? You let him go out alone?"

"Uh, yes."

"You didn't stop him?"

"Uh, no."

"And he's presumed dead."

"Uh, right."

Yao karate-chopped Yong Soo and Hong over the head. "You idiots! I thought I raised you better than this!"

"Why did you hit me?" Hong complained.

"Don't be so hard on them," said Kiku. "It was a special request from Lovino-san, wasn't it? They had no choice."

"If he didn't go alone, they would be dead too," said Heracles. "It was the right choice."

Yao sighed. "I don't think Italy would be very happy with that, though."

"No doubt about that."

* * *

It was victory, so Ivan decided to be kind and break the news to Lili Zwingli himself.

He headed upstairs to the Baltics' room and found both his sisters and Poland there as well. Their room was the only one that hadn't burned down or been infiltrated. Mostly likely because their room was situated so high up.

"You're okay!" said Katyusha, rushing over to inspect her brother. "No injuries?"

"No, Katya. I'm fine."

"Marry me now?" Natalia suggested.

"No . . . I'm fine."

"Wh-what h-happened?" asked Latvia, still trembling. "Is the fight over?"

"Yes."

"Were there any deaths?" asked Estonia.

"I . . . can't be sure. There are many missing nations, however."

"What about _bruder_?" asked Lili. "Is he all right?"

Ivan tried to smile as gently as possible. "Yes, about that . . ."

"You should, like, come out with it already, like totally," said Poland. "Not cool."

"Vash is missing."

"Oh-kay, like, not _that_ fast."

Lili started crying. "Wh-wha . . . ?"

"I'm sorry," said Ivan. "I truly am."

"It doesn't mean he's dead!" Lithuania blurted. "I mean, he's _just_ missing. He could be anywhere. He could be coming back here this instant! Right?"

"Sure," said Ivan. "I mean, yes. He will definitely come back."

Lili bravely wiped her tears away. "Y-yes. Of c-course. _Bruder _doesn't like me crying anyway. He probably doesn't want to come back looking at this."

Ukraine bent over and hugged little Liechtenstein. "That's right. Vash wants to see that you've got a strong heart. And you do. Don't worry about him; he's strong, too!"

Ivan turned and left the room. He said his part. He didn't want to stay any longer than he had to.

* * *

The tension exceeded beyond awkward levels.

The sky cried along with Feliciano. It rained heavily upon the roof. The clouds were suspended right above the city, so that the sunrise was still visible in the distance.

Feliciano couldn't even see it behind his tears. It was all a blur of orange and grey. Not a nice combination.

Elizabeta, Alfred, Matthew and Ludwig stood around, feeling as though they shouldn't be here. Ludwig suggested they leave, because obviously this was Feliciano's time to mourn his brother, but Feliciano didn't want to be alone. He begged them to stay with him.

The radio crackled again.

"_Hey, just a heads up,_" came Spain's voice. "_The fires couldn't be put out exactly, so the structure's getting weak. We should evacuate._"

"Right," said Ludwig into his radio. "You heard what he said. Everyone evacuate the building. Only bring what you can salvage. You have a max of fifteen minutes." He lowered his radio and spoke to the group. "We should be getting down too. At this height, it'll take at least fifteen minutes. Maybe more."

Alfred sneezed and wiped his nose. "Hear, hear. I'm gonna get sick if we're not outta this rain soon."

"Feli," said Ludwig gently. "That means you too."

Feliciano shook his head. "I . . . I'm not leaving."

"What? This is ridiculous, _Italia_! We have no room for argument."

"I don't care! If I don't have _fratello_, I don't care about anything else!"

Ludwig picked up Feliciano and slung him over his shoulder. "I _told_ you—there's no time for you to have a trantrum. We're leaving _now_. Besides . . . someone's got to break the news to Antonio."

Feliciano's eyes widened. He started crying again.

* * *

"W-what . . . ?"

They met Spain on floor 16. He'd been heading downstairs too, but started later than China.

"I'm sorry," said Elizabeta. "It's not a definite, but given the evidence and time overlapse, it's definitely a possibility. A big one, at that."

"Roma's . . . He's gone?"

Feliciano's barely reacted to his brother's name. He'd gone numb at this point. He just stared at the floor like there was nothing out there left for him.

"Nations can't die, can they?" Antonio asked the question on everyone's mind. "I mean, is that even _possible_? If our people still exist, we should still exist, right?"

"Who knows," said Matthew. "A nation's strength comes from the people, as well as our immortality. But we can get hurt. It's possible we can die, too."

"Maybe death works as hyper-regeneration," Alfred proposed, trying to lighten the mood. "You know, he'd die, but come back to life, and pop up in some random place in the Himalayas?"

"Never seen it happening. In fact, all the old civilizations that died simply disappear. No one knows where they went. Maybe they died and stayed dead."

"Dude, why are you so pessimistic?"

"I'm sorry, it's just . . ."

Antonio drowned out their ramblings. He leaned against the stairwell railing for support.

His Roma was . . . dead.

_Because of me. I sent him to his death.  
_

"_You _can_ lead them. You _will."

"_Why me?! You're injured, bastard—I can't just leave you like this!_"

"_I'm not ditching you, if that's what you're thinking. I'm doing what's best for you._"

It was such a stupid decision. Lovino was the type to meet his adversary by himself, without backup. Because he was that adoringly stupid. The whole time he'd been disregarding his own safety, worrying about others when he should've been concerned about himself.

Antonio regretted it. _He_ should've been the one to go, not Lovino. Lovino was still a child.

But like Feliciano, he couldn't feel any signs of Romano's absence. It was like . . . he was still _there_.

* * *

**Don't any of you feel like you want to hop into the story and give Italy and Spain a hug? 'Cause I do. And no one has a single clue on where Switzerland, Iceland, Finland and Sweden went. I don't either. Poor Liechtenstein. Poor Denmark and Norway.**

**Thanks for reading! And as always, feedback would be nice. C:  
**

**The next chapter will be somewhat slow going - not much really happens. It's just a transition chapter for the next-ish arc coming up.**


	28. XXVIII: Absence

By the time they reached the lobby, all the floors had been cleared. Nations milled about outside, wondering where to go from here. The torrential downpour had softened to a light drizzle. At this point, half the city was covered in sunlight, and the other half was raining. The hotel stood in the middle of these halves.

"What are we going to do now?" said Alfred. "The battle's over."

"The fight's not," said Ludwig. "We still have ways to go before we can lay down our weapons."

"WEST!"

Gilbert limped through the doors with Kiku helping to support him.

"_Bruder_?" Ludwig stared in astonishment. "What happened to you?"

The Prussian's right arm was in a sling, his right eye bounded with linen. But he was smiling.

"Haha . . . I was a little careless. Sorry about that."

"Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. Look at you—I guess my feeling had been right. You did end up losing an eye."

"So you knew?"

"Of course I knew. We are brothers."

"So what about you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ludwig's smile faltered. "It . . . It was nothing. I had an interesting conversation that I'd rather forget."

"Was it about—?"

"Yes."

Feliciano frowned. "We should get moving, _ve_?"

"Right."

Ludwig appeared relieved to change the subject. Feliciano could see a deep darkness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Just what sort of conversation did he have?

"With all the windows closed, the building should run out of oxygen soon, and the fires should disperse. All we need to do now is—" Ludwig paused. "Hm. Where _are_ we going from here?"

The nations exited the hotel, glad to be out of the site that hosted such a large-scale conflict. They were approached by Ivan.

"Everyone has decided to head back to their respective countries," said the Russian. "Lingering around here would be pointless, so they're going to try and set up transmitters worldwide. They're concerned about leaving their territories undefended for a long period of time. It would prove interesting."

"I believe we need to head back to our countries eventually," said Japan. "No matter how powerful we are individually, our countries still need a nation's protection."

"We can do that after we've found Lovino," said Antonio. "No objections."

But many looked ready to object.

"Lovi's the only one with the blueprints, and the mafia will only listen to his orders," explained Antonio. "Hacking into the Italian database won't do much good, either. They use the standard Roman sorting procedure—no computers, only endless rows of scrolls. If we don't find him, then we have no chance at all with obtaining more transmitters. We can't part our separate ways like this without such a crucial implement."

"You honestly believe he's still alive," said Ludwig.

"Of course! You've spent years with Ita; you know that Italians are hard to kill!"

"Yes, but—"

"I agree with Antonio," interrupted Feliciano. "_Fratello_'s still alive. I can feel it. I'm going to look for him."

"Feli." Ludwig appeared disappointed. "You know at this stage that something like that is impossible. It's still unsafe."

"I don't care!"

"Let's find somewhere to rest, _ne_?" suggested Japan. "We went through the whole night fighting without the least bit of sleep. We'll look for Romano-san afterwards."

"_Ve_ . . ." Feliciano's shoulders hunched. "_Si._ All right."

"Er, I better go look for Roderich and head back with him," said Elizabeta. "He's probably lost somewhere in the streets. Him and his challenged sense of direction. I'll get in contact with you all later."

"Stay safe," said Gilbert.

Hungary smiled. "You too, Mr. Awesome."

"Ha! She finally admits it."

"Eh," said Matthew. "Has anyone seen the Nordics?"

"They're looking for Iceland, Sweden and Finland," responded Ivan. "I don't think we'd be seeing any of them for a while."

"What about Artie and Francey-pants?" Alfred asked.

"WE'RE HERE!"

The two blonds were waving from the distance, gesturing wildly. Neither of them of them appeared to be injured. They were pointing animatedly to the left of them, and then disappeared down that direction.

The present nations glanced at each other and shrugged. Maybe the two of them found a place to sleep.

* * *

All ten of them were seated on the grass, under the shelter of a tree, around a going fire, in the middle of a park. America managed to raid a convenience store and obtain s'mores. Arthur went with him, just for good measure. The Brit insisted that no one could pillage better than he could, because, well, he was a freaking pirate. And also since he was of course a gentlemen, he wanted to pay the store back for what they 'stole'.

The nations were currently roasting marshmallows on the fire; some were lying down, others inclining, the rest sleeping.

"Axis, the original Six—minus Romano, the Troublesome Trio, and . . . the Allies—without China." Matthew looked up. "Where is China?"

"He's gone off to look for his siblings," said Ivan. "Vietnam is missing."

"Oh no. I hope she's okay . . . How is it you know where everyone is, Ivan?"

Russia tapped his noggin. "Russia knows all, _da_?"

"O-of course."

"Who's the Troublesome Trio you're referring to?" Arthur asked.

"You, Papa, and Ivan."

"What."

"Well, you were prying in our business for the first half of this ordeal. How about the Nosy Trio then, eh?"

Alfred burst out laughing at Arthur's face. "Calm down, Artie! It was all a good joke."

"Riiight. You two better lock your doors at night."

Matthew and Alfred high-fived each other.

"By the way," mentioned Ivan, "it looks like Francis was successful in stopping you."

Arthur glanced away with contempt; Alfred choked on his s'mores.

"_France_ stopped you? Dude, bro, that's a new low for you."

"Oh, piss off. It was personal for him; what was I supposed to do? The bloody hell of a wanker went all sappy on me, and when I turned a blind eye, he stabbed me in the back."

"Really? 'Cause it looked like he hit you over the head with a rock . . ."

Arthur massaged his temples. "Fuck you."

"Chill, brah. It's all good now, right? The Frost Men have stopped their assault, and we can finally sleep!" Alfred fell on his back and tucked his arms behind his head. "Look at that sky. So blue."

"Hmm . . ."

Alfred glanced at the Brit. He seemed in deep thought. "What are you thinking about, Artie?"

"Nothing important. Just about Mother."

"Why?"

"Don't know, really. I wanted to forget this whole pain in the ass fight, but she came up in my thoughts."

"Never knew you were such a mama's boy, bro. She's gone, you know."

"Alfred, you ever wonder where the old civilizations go after they disappear?" asked Arthur suddenly.

Alfred took his time to think about it. "Um, nope."

"Well, even though she's gone, I'd like to think she's still alive. I remember when Mother Britannia would tell me stories about her young days, with my brothers sitting around. It's the only one time when neither of us would fight, when we listen to Mother's stories."

"Well, if your mom's still alive, then Native America's gotta be around, too, right?"

"It's only a theory, lad."

"_Ve,_ I want to see Grandpa Rome," Feliciano spoke softly.

The nations who were still awake jumped. They thought the Italian was asleep.

"I don't want him not knowing what happened to _fratello_. I'm scared, but I also feel bad keeping this from him . . ."

"But you said Lovino's still alive, didn't you?" Matthew whispered. "I'm sure, wherever Ancient Rome is, he knows the truth."

Feliciano didn't say anything more.

"I've been meaning to ask," said Arthur, "what happened with the transmitter?"

"The transmitter overloads quickly," said Matthew. "Just ten seconds and it fries completely. It needs a large output of electricity, but apparently such a large output also kills its mainframe."

"What did you do with it?"

"Alfred dumped it over the side."

"You what?"

"Hey, in my defense," said Alfred, "it was useless. So."

"All right, all right. Fair enough."

"You all should sleep now, _da_?" Ivan suggested. "I will keep watch."

"You should sleep too," said Matthew.

Here Ivan smiled slowly. "Matvey. I don't think you're aware, but . . . I don't sleep."

"O-oh. _D'accord. Je vais . . . dormir maintenant._"

"Yes. You do that."

The day spurred on as the nations slept.

* * *

Feliciano waited for an hour to see if the rest had fallen asleep. He rolled over and poked Spain in the ribs.

Antonio jerked awake. Finding that it was only Feliciano, he calmed. "What is it?"

"Let's go find _fratello_," Feliciano whispered.

"What about Russia?"

"We'll just say we're going on a potty-break."

"You can't be serious!" Antonio hissed. "That's never going to work!"

"I'm very convincing."

"That, I have no doubt, but I'm sure Ivan knows our motives. He'll know we're searching for Lovino."

"Please?" Feliciano gave him the puppy-dog eyes.

Antonio resisted against the cuteness. Feliciano almost never opened his eyes, but when he did . . . Ugh, let's just say in the end, he'd been won over. "It's even worse with you than it is with Roma. You Italians are deceptive from you want to be."

"_Ve._ That's why it's going to work out."

Italy and Spain stood. Ivan paid them no heed, but it was obvious he'd noticed them.

"And where do you think you two are going?" he asked without looking over, roasting ten marshmallows on a stick.

"Err . . ." Feliciano approached Ivan, instigating Puppy-Dog Mode. "Please? We just want to take a walk around."

Ivan smiled pleasantly. "No."

Feliciano spluttered. "W-w-why not?!"

Ivan placed a finger to his lips. "The others are sleeping, _da_? I have seen those eyes all my life from my Baltic states. It never works. Frankly, when you do it, it freaks me out. Drop it."

"We want to find _fratello_," Feliciano admitted. "I'm positive he's alive."

"Me too."

"You . . . what?"

"Russia knows all, like I've said before. But I can tell you that if you go out and find him, then what you will see cannot be unseen. Lovino Vargas is obviously not well. He is injured, and if you don't hurry, he could die."

"Then why are you keeping us up?" Antonio asked. He grabbed Feliciano's arm. "We should hurry; come on."

"Thanks, Ivan," said Feliciano. "Thanks for helping out."

"What are you saying? I wasn't willingly letting you leave. I was merely taken off guard and you two managed to slip past me. Now get going before that lie becomes unconvincing."

"_Ve~_ _Grazie!_"

Ivan raised a bottle of vodka to his lips. "_Da— _Oh! I'm almost out. Черт."

* * *

Neither Feliciano or Antonio had a clue on where to start. The city was unfamiliar. It was located exactly between the borders of Germany, Switzerland and Austria. Quite a remote place to hold a World Summit. It was no wonder that the higher-up authorities hadn't been alerted of the invasion yet. It was only a matter of time before they arrived at the site and found out what had really gone down these past few hours.

The streets were completely deserted. There wasn't a soul in sight. A few nations still lingered, but they were simply there to search for their family members. They provided no help on Lovino's location. Even if they saw him lying someplace, they wouldn't care enough to remember _where_ they saw him.

Feliciano wasn't having the greatest of luck. Antonio placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Cheer up, Ita. Try using your twin perception."

"It's not that easy," Feliciano complained. "I could only feel a slight presence next to me, not enough to distinguish the exact position. This city is so big! Right now, I feel so lonely . . . _Fratello_ must be feeling the same thing."

"There has to be some way to boost your mental link."

"That's only if _fratello_ willingly allows me to invade his mind. That's when he's conscious. Right now, he's either unconscious or severely absent."

"I hope that doesn't mean dead."

Feliciano shook his head. "Normally, if he gets weak enough, his barriers would fall and allow me to access his memories, emotions and physical conditions."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means we're too far away from him to tell. I'm going to try and follow his absent link. Maybe it'll lead me to a narrowed area where it's easier to look for him."

"Good idea. Lead the way."

Antonio had absolutely no idea what Feliciano was talking about. He himself had never had a twin. He didn't know the feeling of sharing minds with another. All he could do now was trust the Italian on his limited judgment.

Feliciano walked as if in a trance. He kept turning at seemingly random corners. He often jerked to a stop and started up again, in an opposite directon. Antonio had trouble keeping up.

Soon they arrived in the area of the city where it was raining the hardest. They took shelter under an awning.

"Now what?" said Antonio, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them to get the circulation going.

Feliciano stared ahead. "_Ve . . ._ I've been thinking, Antonio. Do you think the timing of this attack was a little bit planned? It's too convenient. Don't you think all this—if it's been staged—that it could have occurred in the past? This day had just as much a chance of happening as, let's say, ten years ago."

"That's a good question, Feli. You should ask Heracles about that, though. I wouldn't know."

"I just . . . have a feeling that this has all happened before, like this is a repeat of something. Ivan said that he encountered these Frost Men fifty years ago, in the Ural Mountains. Heracles found evidence of them in his mother's tunnels. And he said that Grandpa also had a brief passing with them."

Antonio furrowed his eyebrows. "Why are you making this connection now?"

"I think something big's going to happen in the near future. I can't put my finger on it, but—" Feliciano lurched forward into the rain suddenly. He crossed the street.

"Where are you going?!" Antonio shouted. "_Mierda_."

He rushed after the Italian before he disappeared completely from his sight.

They ended up stopping in front of a shady area—the backend of the ghettos?—with dark bricked buildings creating strange shadows in the alleys.

"He's here," said Feliciano.

Antonio squinted through the darkness. His eyes were playing tricks on him again—he kept imagining figures in the shadows dancing. "You sure?"

"Positive."

In his ears, Feliciano could hear the faint pounding of a heart—a rhythm so slow that it could cease any second.

* * *

**I'm sorry, but I have to point this out.**

**French: shit - merde**

**Italian: shit - merda**

**Spanish: shit - mierda**

**English: shit - shit**

**Oh, England. You black sheep of Europe. But to be fair, English does have its Germanic roots...and roots from everywhere else.  
**


	29. XXIX: Concordia

Lovino gazed unseeingly into the dark clouds. The rain pounded the earth around him. If he had the energy, he would have shivered from the cold. But his body had already been the same temperature as the rain long before the shower started.

He tried lifting his arm, reaching for the sky—but he only got about halfway. He also noticed that he couldn't breathe all that well anymore. There were several places on his body that he couldn't move or feel at all—though, maybe that had something to do with this numbing cold.

He was vaguely aware of the marble-like stones littered around him. The Frost Man had shattered—but not before dealing him a near-fatal blow.

He could just lie there forever and fade away. He could just close his eyes and never open them again.

But that was only if he had the energy.

Suddenly, a deep sadness welled up from deep within his heart. The connection was thin, barely noticeable, but the emotions were so intense, he felt physically moved by its assault.

And he realized he was crying. Tears bloomed and slid down the side of his face in stinging torrents. He didn't have the motivation to wipe them away.

Lovino couldn't understand—why was he crying? Did he have a reason to be sad? Was he really crying, or was that just the rain?

Did it matter? A few more minutes and he could sleep. A few more minutes and he could finally let go of this idiotic pain.

_**No . . .**_**Fratello _can't be_****_ gone! He can't be!_ **

A few more minutes . . . and his stupid little brother's feelings wouldn't matter anymore.

_Screw you, Feli. Why did you have to project your dumb emotions onto me? Can't I just die in peace?_

* * *

Ludwig sighed and sat up. The rough ground beneath him left sore spots on his body. He rubbed the kinks out of his shoulder and glanced around.

"You're not going to go after him?" asked Ivan.

"What time is it?"

"Don't answer my question with another question. I've been noticing a change in you. Feliciano has seen it, too. There's a darkness lingering in your soul."

"I find that creepy," said Ludwig. "Sometimes I wonder if you really do know everything, or if you just guess correctly."

"Answer my question."

The German reached for a store sandwich in one of the bags Alfred brought. "I honestly don't see what I could do for him . . . His brother is his responsibility. Feliciano is too pure for someone like me. It would be best if he spent more time with someone like Spain."

"You're demeaning yourself, Ludwig. Does this have to do with the conversation you had?"

"That is none of your business, and if you really did know everything, then you already have your answer."

"You cannot bear something of that scale alone. Believe me; I know about solitude. Centuries of standing alone, on my own, shouldering heavy burdens, has left my mind shattered. Thankfully I have been insane from the beginning, so it's fine for me. But you are a different story."

Ludwig scoffed. "Yes. _Different_. At least you didn't drag anyone else into your insanity. Except maybe for that sister of yours."

"Belarus is on a _completely _different level from insane. And you're wrong. You didn't drag Feliciano or Kiku into your own ambitions because they had no choice. They wanted to be your comrade, Ludwig. You must treasure it. You cannot bear this burden alone."

"They don't need to bear it with me. If never such an idea existed, they would never have sided with me. The war would not have happened. The world would not have been torn apart. No one would have had to die."

"What's been done is over with. You're making sure it never happens again, right?"

Ludwig gazed at his sandwich, not feeling so hungry anymore. "It's a promise I intend to keep."

"Just remember that you are not your country, nor your people's conscience. You cannot influence what they think or will do. You are representing the causes, not their actions. Don't blame yourself. You are still a person. You have your own emotions, conflictions. You are human, therefore you have your own conscience and beliefs. You honestly did not want to take those lives."

"No," Ludwig admitted. "I didn't."

"So." Ivan sat back with a triumphant expression. "There you have it, _da_?"

"You _do_ know everything, don't you?"

"Most things," the Russian said.

"You won't tell anyone?"

"No. But I wouldn't have to. They'll figure it out eventually."

Three feet away, Prussia tried to keep his awareness a secret. He'd been awake for a while and had listened in on their conversation. Much later, he would need to lecture his little brother on something he called _stupidity_.

"I can't believe you were actually of help to me," said Ludwig. "You don't seem like the consulting type."

"I'm not," said Ivan, smiling darkly. "You're falling into darkness; you can't avoid something like that. It'll happen. I'm just making you aware of where you stand this instant. You are a ways in, comrade."

"_Ja_. Thanks . . . I think."

Germany had to admit that that was the strangest conversation he _ever_ had.

* * *

Little Liechtenstein wasn't going home with her brother like usual, since he was MIA. She was going to stay with Austria and Hungary for the time being.

She was reluctant at first, since they bumped into each other literally in the middle of the street. Later Ukraine relented and sent Lili into their care.

Roderich still had a sense of duty towards his former comrade. This duty extended to his relatives, meaning his sister. Elizabeta was absolutely exuberant about having another female in the household, since she spent most of her life hanging around males and a certain Prussian ape.

After saying her goodbyes to the Baltics, Poland, Belarus and Ukraine, she headed off with Roderich and Elizabeta.

"Do you have any idea on why your brother left his post?" Elizabeta asked.

Liechtenstein shook her head. "_Bruder_ is a very cautious person. He may have seen something and gone to check it out."

"Do you know where he could have gone?"

"If the matter's been dealt with, I suppose he would head back home."

"Then we'll head over and check if he's at the house," Elizabeta decided. "Right, Roderich?"

"Of course." He leaned into Elizabeta's ear. "But what if he's not there?"

"It's unlikely he's dead," she supposed. "He could have been taken."

Liechtenstein glanced between the two nations. She knew that whatever they were whispering for was for her own good. If she didn't need to know, then she didn't need to know. Vash had drilled that into her head many ages ago, said that it would spare her 'innocence', whatever that meant.

Alongside her brother, Sweden, Iceland and Finland had also disappeared. There was a good chance all four of them were together or close by. That raised the odds of all their survival.

Lili prayed that all four of them were all right. Denmark and Norway were searching for their brothers. Hopefully Vash was with them, too, and they'd all come back safe and sound.

* * *

Feliciano Vargas crept cautiously towards the alley, Antonio bringing up the rear.

It didn't take some twin perception to know that Feliciano was over his head in anxiety. Antonio remembered back to what Ivan had told them: _What you will see cannot be unseen. If you do not hurry, he could die. _

No doubt that Feliciano wanted so much to run forward and see if his brother was fine—but he was a nation, and nations had to be wary at all times. Didn't matter which day of the week it was. All of them had to deal with potential assassinations and abductions at some point in their long lives. You couldn't even let your guard down when you were sleeping.

What untold horror would await them in that alley? Was there a slight chance that a Frost Man was still alive, and if they weren't careful, they'd be attacked at any second?

There was a good possibility that Lovino was already dead, if not dy_ing_. In fact, he could very well be beyond help.

_Shut up, Antonio,_ he chastised himself. _You haven't given up on him yet. He may not be able to work or clean, but Lovino has certain qualities that cannot be replaced. To go one day without him is like living an eternity without a sound mind. He is NOT going to die._

Feliciano paused at the entrance to the alley. Antonio stepped up next to him, wondering what the sudden halt was about.

A dark form was sprawled all over the filthy wet floor of the dingy alley. The head was facing in their direction, towards the light, as if the last thing it ever wanted to see before it died was someone—anyone.

The figure's eyes were vacant, blank, just staring ahead of him into space. Judging from the colour, it was obvious who it was, even if the eyes lacked spark.

"_F-fra . . . tello?_"

Lovino Vargas didn't move. He gave no recognition that he was even alive.

Feliciano surged forward and slid to his knees, scooping his brother into his arms. He scanned Lovino's face, looking for anything that might tell him that his brother was alive.

Antonio knelt beside him and waved a hand in front of Lovino's face. "He's still breathing. But barely, I'm afraid."

Feliciano pressed his ear to his brother's chest. The faint heartbeat continued with its slow rhythm. He shook Lovino's body.

"Wake up, _fratello,_" he pleaded. "Everyone's waiting for you to wake up."

Lovino's eyes stared past his face, still empty and cold.

Feliciano drew his brother closer and sobbed into his hair. "No . . . you can't be dead. You can't be! I'm not Italy without Romano! You can't die here. I won't let you!"

Antonio held Lovino's hand, his expression between grim and anguished. "Feli. Maybe he really is—"

"_NO!_" Feliciano screamed. "I won't accept it! Something like this can't just happen so easily!" He looked up. "I know! We'll get him to the others. Hopefully someone can heal him, and he'd be fine. Right? Antonio, he's going to be fine, right?"

"Feli." Antonio shook his head sadly. "I love Lovino too, but sometimes, you need to let what you love go."

"And sometimes," the Italian added, "_what you love will come back_. _Fratello_ is not dead!"

Antonio leaned forward and kissed Lovino on the forehead. Then he did the same thing to Feliciano. "I will give you a moment to say goodbye. But then we need to start heading back. The others will get worried." He stood and stared apathetically at Lovino's pale face. He turned to leave.

"Antonio! He's _not_ dead! Do you hear me? Antonio, look at me!"

The Spaniard exited the alley with an unusual stoic coldness, leaving Feliciano alone with Lovino.

_What's wrong with him?_

Feliciano looked back down at his brother's face. "They have no idea . . . They can't feel what I can feel. And I know, _fratello_, that you're still alive. So please, say something. Look at me. Anything . . . _Please_."

Hot tears mixed with the rain trickled down his cheeks and splattered onto his brother's face. Feliciano cradled Lovino's body as he murmured Italian prayers into his ear.

There was . . . so much he never got to say. So much that he wanted to say. And now, Lovino was slipping away, and Feliciano was afraid he'd never get to say those words. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to apologize for all those times he'd been inconsiderate, reckless and a hindrance.

He didn't want to be all alone in this cruel, vast world. He didn't want to go into work and not see his brother in the office with him. Ludwig and Kiku were his dear friends, and he'd miss them terribly if they went out the same way. But Lovino . . . Lovino was his brother, his _twin._ If Lovino disappeared, it was the same thing as getting half of his heart ripped out.

"I—I never wanted . . . I never wanted you to die for me, _fratello._ You didn't have to go that far." Feliciano choked back a sob. "No one was asking you to die for them . . . The purpose of this unification was so _all_ of us could survive—together. You are no exception. So please, just—come back to me."

_So much that I wanted to say._

"Fe . . . li . . . ci . . ."

Feliciano recoiled and stared incredulously at his brother. The noise was scratchy and wispy, like the throat hadn't met moisture in centuries. Did Lovino just . . . _speak_?

"Fe . . . li . . . D-damn . . . you."

No, it wasn't his imagination. Lovino was alive! "_Fratello?_"

The rain budded from behind Lovino's eyes and came rushing down in slivers. No, that wasn't it. Not rain—Romano was _crying_. His face was as blank as ever, and his eyes the same state, but he was conscious.

"Damn you," he spoke hoarsely. "Why do you . . . have to be . . . such an emotional . . . wuss?"

A wide smile broke across Feliciano's face. "I knew it!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I knew you were still alive!" He hugged his brother tight. "I knew you wouldn't give up so easily!"

"What—" Lovino coughed. "What are you . . . saying? Who's the one . . . that gives . . . up easily?"

Feliciano nearly forgot the reason why he was here in the first place. "That doesn't matter! I have to get you to the others!"

"Stop your stupid . . . crying . . . first. I hate it . . . when I have to . . . share your damned feelings."

Feliciano laughed, the water in his eyes blocking his vision. "What are you saying, silly _fratello?_ You're not crying because I'm crying. You're crying because _you_ are. I can feel what you feel, remember? You're happy, _fratello. _That's what your heart tells me."

Lovino just stared at first, uncomprehending. And then his face constricted into a picture of conflicted agony, and he began to weep openly. "Dammit . . . why? Why does it have to be _you_? Why couldn't I . . . have gotten a less stupid little brother?" He reached up with his single mobile arm to shield his tears. "You could've just let me die . . . I hate you so . . . so much."

Feliciano rocked his older twin, humming an old tune that Grandpa Rome used to sing. "You're equally stupid, _fratello._ Don't ever try running off by yourself again."

"Worry about yourself, stupid." But he couldn't stay mad at Feliciano for long. Lovino smiled softly and shut his eyes, letting the raindrops hit his face. Because he knew, at that moment, that he was alive. "I won't."

In all honesty—though he was never going to admit it—he was glad he didn't die. He felt relief that Feliciano really had come for him. And he was so, so glad that Feliciano hadn't been the last person he would ever see, because there was no way he would want his little brother to have a memory of him dying, in his arms.

It'd always been an annoying concept—that twin perception. But at least it brought him Feliciano. Just this once, Lovino would let his barriers fall.

Just this once.

* * *

**I wrote this listening to REALLY sad music. Literally brought me to tears. I was reluctant to release this chapter at first because I thought it wasn't so good, but I realized that this story would go NOWHERE if I didn't continue to post. And I want to get to the end of this first arc already.  
**

**I can officially tell you all that there will be a second series to this one. Don't know what the title is yet, but after this arc, I will put up the next in a completely new fic, because I just noticed this fic will reach a gajillion chapters if I don't. So thanks for understanding!  
**

**As always, thanks for reading, and I'll let you know when I've posted the next series. _Au revoir~_  
**


	30. XXX: Epilogue

The fire had long died. Only remnants of embers flickered in the ashes, as if the sparks wanted to light but knew it couldn't.

Ludwig stared into the fire pit, counting the minutes that passed by. He fingered the dinosaur carving he accomplished during his not-so-productive battle. He considered throwing the dinosaur into the embers to see if it'd catch fire.

It was supposed to be for Feliciano, but who knows where the Italian went.

"West."

He continued to stare ahead of him. Gilbert sat down to his side.

"How long have you been awake?" Ludwig asked.

From his peripherals, he could see Gilbert shrug.

"West, regarding the subject of what happened with the Frost Men, I need to have a talk with you. You can't keep it all holed up without telling anyone. I'm your brother; I can help you."

Ludwig sighed. "So you heard everything, huh? Seriously, don't get me started. I honestly do not want another repeat of the conversation I had with Ivan."

"Just because my eyes are closed," said the Russian, "does not mean I cannot hear you."

"I thought you were sleeping."

"In five minutes, comrade? I don't think so."

"West, Ivan is right. You don't have to shoulder your mistakes on your own. If you keep putting it off, it'll consume you. You're going to drift farther and farther away from Kiku and Feliciano. Do you want that?"

Ludwig stiffened, but he did not answer.

"It was me, too, you know," Gilbert spoke softly, contrary to his usual boastful exclamations. It sounded like he was contemplating his past mistakes, as if he could've done something differently. "I'm Germany too. I knew, and yet I did nothing."

"Yes, but you were no longer a nation. You didn't have any power to do anything. You couldn't stop Adolf even if you wanted to."

Gilbert recoiled like he'd been slapped right across his Awesome Pride. Which was what happened.

"I . . . didn't mean that, _bruder_," said Ludwig. "I'm sorry. Look, can we just talk about this another time? I fear that if you have heard everything, the others are bound to wake up. I don't want them overhearing too, especially England . . ."

"I can hear you, you know~" the Brit sang, and sat up. "Just because my eyes are closed, doesn't mean I'm _sleeping._"

Ludwig threw his hands into the air. "Okay, who else is awake?"

All of the nations sat up, looking very sheepish.

"_Da_," concluded Ivan. "Now that we are all awake, let's get down to business."

"Urgh . . ." Ludwig slid a hand down his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. "How long ago?"

"About ten—fifteen minutes?" said Francis. "Don't worry; we didn't hear anything worth the blackmail."

"For some reason I don't feel reassured."

"By the way," said Arthur, "about that notebook . . . Don't you think _now's_ the time to share the information, Ivan? We've been attacked, invaded, wounded, and er"—he cast a wary look in Germany's direction—"_pissed off_, so some new insight would be appreciated."

Ivan scowled. The nations shivered under his menacing glare. "I _told_ you once already. I wish to keep it to myself. If I find the need to share, then I will. Besides, you read my entry firsthand. Same with you, Francis. Why don't the two of you just tell the world, hmm?"

"Because you would hunt us down and behead us," said Francis. "I'd like to keep my pretty face, _merci_."

Arthur was slightly bit more stubborn. "They have a right to know."

"Don't you have a funeral to attend?" Ivan retorted flippantly. "Better if you don't keep their families waiting, _da_? I suggest you inform the Queen as soon as possible."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. ". . . This is not over."

"I wouldn't imagine it being so."

Kiku, AKA master of reading the atmosphere, cleared his throat. "A-anyway, now that we're all awake, we should make further plans from here."

"I have one," spoke Alfred, raising a hand. "How's about we scram before the media manages to find the wreckage and its apparent survivors?"

"That is a problem. We cannot have the lower government officials knowing, regardless of the civilians. It's only natural they'd look to someone and ask why they've been evacuated so hastily and why the hotel has been decimated."

"So you're saying we should run," Arthur stated.

"N-not run, exactly," said Kiku.

"But we're still running."

"_H-hai._"

"Of course we can totally inform our superiors," said Alfred. "But we've got to keep it a secret from the rest of the world. Police officers, higher-up bureaucrats, FEDs, homeland security, etcetera—they don't need to know a thing. Otherwise that's too many people to keep track of, and an even higher chance of a traitor."

"What about secret services?" Matthew suggested.

"Oh, that . . . Since Arthur's UNIT already knows, I don't see any reason to keep it from the CIA or Interpol or whatever secret services you people have."

"Why are _you_ telling us what to do?" Ludwig said.

"Because I am obviously the Hero, and every one of you are my backup. Le _duh_."

Francis cringed. "Please don't put _le_ behind your atrocious language."

"Hey!" Arthur snapped.

"I meant every bit of offense, _Angleterre_."

Alfred laughed. "Hahahaha~! You guys are funny. Everybody knows that American is the best language out there."

"It's _English_, you bloody twit! Bastardized English, I might add!"

"No, no. Believe me; it's American."

"Aside from that," said Ivan, "it is really not a bad idea. I believe we should go ahead with Amerika's plan. We need to ring up Italy and Spain to inform them."

Simultaneously, each and every one of their radios sputtered to life and emitted a lone multitude of voices:

"_We've found Romano_."

They glanced at each other.

* * *

"_Antonio?_"

The Spaniard twisted around and gazed back into the alley. Feliciano was having trouble getting his brother to his feet. Granted, Lovino couldn't actually feel his legs, so he was hardly to blame for the incoordination.

"We're taking him back to Rome so he can heal faster," he spoke into the radio. "If you've been discussing, send it to us via coded email_._"

"_Is the lad all right, though._"

"Yes, yes, he's fine. Goodbye."

"_Hold on. The_—"

Antonio shut the radio off and strode back to the Italians' side.

"Did you tell them?" Feliciano asked.

"They know."

"But do they agree with our decision?"

"The world may be united, Feli, but we still have the right to do as we please if we see fit. Lovi needs our attention. I'm sure the others won't mind us heading on home early."

"Don't . . . worry about me," said Romano, his breathing laboured. "I'll be fine."

"You were half-dead," Antonio said. "You still are. Don't you dare argue with me, Roma."

"What's gotten into you, _bastardo_?"

"What's gotten into me?" Antonio glared at Lovino. "You almost _died_. You nearly left me all alone, and I thought you were gone for good—I was prepared to accept that fact."

"Antonio, you can't blame _fratello_ for this," said Feliciano. "He was outnumbered and outmatched; he couldn't have—"

"_Yes_. He could have. You are a complete idiot, Lovino. It's a wonder how you're not dead and cold yet. Why did you come out here by yourself when you knew that you could be attacked?! What is with you and that brain of yours—taking on that idiotic mission!"

"What's your damn problem?" Lovino said. "I didn't know!"

"You could have assumed!"

"I tried, dammit! There were too many lives at stake!"

"Including yours!"

"Why are you yelling at me?!"

"_Ve_, can we please just—" Feliciano took a deep breath. "Can we all calm down and save this discussion for later? This isn't the time to be arguing!"

"You are just screaming at me to compensate for what you did," said Lovino, his eyes narrowed. "You know deep down that it was _you_ who sent me out to my potential death. You're yelling at me because you're really angry at y—"

"I don't need to hear anything from you!" Antonio snapped back. "Shut up for once and do as you're told! You are never obedient, you never listen to me, and you're _so_ . . . hotheaded! You never, ever give a single regard for your own safety! I should have _never_ put my trust in you!"

"I . . ." Lovino glared at Antonio with the utmost contempt. "I _hate_ you."

"Above else, you are too immature. You are not a child anymore! Why can't you grow _up_, already?"

"Why can't you—" Lovino choked and coughed violently to the side. "W-why . . . can't you understand?"

"Understand _what_?! You never tell me anything!"

"STOP IT!" Feliciano shouted. "STOP IT, THE BOTH OF YOU!"

His voice echoed around the alley. A heavy silence hung over the din.

"Why are you two fighting?" he demanded more quietly. "Why are you two so angry? The only thing that matters is that _fratello_ is alive. That's what we came here to do, Antonio. This argument is completely pointless and you're both wasting your breath. What happened to cause this was in the past. Everyone is alive. So please, the both of you, stop . . . fighting."

Antonio stared at the ground in mortification. Lovino hacked viciously, spitting up blood.

Feliciano released a weary sigh. "_Fratello_, we need to get you back to Italy. Just hang on, okay?"

The overexertion was too much for him. Lovino passed out.

* * *

"Did he . . . hang up on us?" Arthur wondered.

"Spain-san has a certain dark side to him that he rarely shows, but it's there," said Kiku.

Gilbert and Francis nodded in unison. "Oh, it's _there_, all right."

"Well." Ludwig locked eyes with every one of his fellow nations. "I suppose this is it. We will be parting ways from here."

"_Da_—it's been . . . How should I say? Mighty _fun_ siding with you all."

Arthur crossed his arms. "Fun. _Oh yes_."

Francis nudged the Brit. "Remember when I knocked you over the h—"

"Yes, we get it. You don't need to mention it again."

"Ohonhonhonhonhonhon~"

"Bloody hell."

"We should head on over to the next city to charter a flight back to North America," Matthew told his brother. "It'll be a long flight."

Alfred stretched his arms out. "Ugh, yeah. No objections there."

Matthew turned to France and England. "_Au revoir, Papa._ Goodbye, Arthur. We'll see each other again soon."

Arthur nodded. "See you, lad."

"_Adieu, mon Mathieu!_"

The Brit glared at the Frenchman. "Don't get any ideas."

"Whaat~? It wasn't like I was going to grope him or anything . . ."

"Later, Artie," said Alfred. "Keep your fairy friends close, 'kay?"

"I don't need advice from you, Alfred." But Arthur relented. "Humph. Well, take care of yourself, all right? Or else all my work has been for nothing, raising you."

"It _has_ been for nothing," Francis inputted. "Look how he turned out."

The two began to walk away together, bickering.

Matthew and Alfred looked at each other in confusion. They seemed . . . rather familiar with each other. A little _too_ familiar. Was it their imagination, or did some of Arthur's hate towards Francis and Francis's hate towards Arthur disperse a bit?

The two North Americans started to wander if it really was just a knock over the head.

"We best be going as well," said Ludwig. "_Bruder?_"

"Yep, give me a sec. Kiku"—Gilbert placed his hands on the man's shoulder—"good luck."

"Hm? For what?"

Ivan loomed over Japan. "Since our countries are so close, we head back together, _da_?"

Kiku froze. "I—I—I—I—"

"Let's go, West!" Gilbert announced, marching away.

"Are you sure it's okay to leave him with—?"

"Let's _go_, West!"

"_Ja._ Fine, fine."

Kiku gulped.

"Guess this is it," said America. "See you laterz, yo."

"Don't leave me with him . . ."

"Huh? What are you talking about, man? Ivan is a cool dude."

Ivan proved the point by laughing evilly.

"See? Cool."

"Cool as in cold," Japan said.

Matthew shook his head and started for the streets. "You coming, Al? We don't have all day."

"Oh, yeah! Wait up, Mattie! Hold on, can we stop by somewhere with a bathroom? Nature calls."

Canada gave his brother a flat look, his expression the least bit enthusiastic. ". . . Be quick."

"Awesome, bro!"

_Thanks for ditching me, America-san,_ thought Japan. _After all we've been through together._

Kiku cast Ivan a sideways glance. "I see why Yao detests you so much."

"What are you talking about, comrade~?"

Japan took a deep breath and let it out steadily. Even if the battle was over for now, the fight wasn't. Somewhere, deep into the earth, the Frost Men were waiting. They weren't going to rest until they accomplished their mission—whatever it was.

Sometime in the future, he knew that he would be picking up his sword again. He knew that this wasn't the end of bloodshed. It was only the beginning, and there was going to be far more deaths than today.

Hopefully it would be prevented in time. Until then, he would do his part to ensure the safety of the world.

* * *

**Meanwhile . . .**

She emerged from her hiding place and inspected her kill. The blonde woman bent down and retracted the arrow from the hide of the deer. It was such a shame to end such a beautiful creature's life—but it also meant dinner.

Pretty soon, her sons would come. She didn't know when, but it was soon, and they would not bring good news.

The female hunter gazed out through the trees into the frosty peninsula. She couldn't remember how long she'd lived out here for, camping in the cabin just south to her. The rest of the population had moved into the cities and completely abandoned the practice of a huntsman. They'd gone soft.

Her heart, though, would always lie in Scandinavia.

She hadn't seen her sons in a long while. Maybe she should go fetch a bear. Just in case.

She readied her bow and slinked through the trees.

* * *

**And there you have it! Thank you all so, SO much for reading.**

**What will the nations do now that they've split up? You will know soon . . . muahahah - ACK! Laughing evilly is more like Russia's thing anyway.  
**


	31. Author's End Note

**Just a notice as well as a thank you to all those who have stuck with this fic and seen it through! THANK YOU TIMES A MILLION! I couldn't have finished this without your support.**

**The next series is out. It's titled ****_Our Guided Legacy, _and it's certainly going to be more interesting than the last.  
**

**At first I wanted to end this story as it was, but I felt the need to complete it with an after-note. I don't see many other people doing this, but it's something I want to do.  
**

**Once again, thank you. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. Because when someone is grateful, it's customary to say such universal words.**

**~LUNAticX  
**


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